Road to Heartbreak
by isabella2004
Summary: In 1857 Colorado Springs, ten years before Michaela's arrival, Hank brings home a young bride from New York, who fears she may have made the biggest mistake of her life. EPILOGUE NOW UP!
1. Default Chapter

I don't own the characters of Dr Quinn, I'm merely borrowing them, except for Emma Jane and all the original characters who flow from her who are of my own creation. Please R R!

Emma Jane Brown ran blindly, not knowing where she was going, or what she was going to do when she got there, just running, running far away from home, from her parents, from the tight constraints of New York society and the web it was trying to wrap her in. She ran through the streets, clutching her small bag to her, her long red hair whipped out behind her like a flame, her black boots smacking rhythmically against the pavement, oblivious to people turning to look at her. She didn't care, all she wanted was to escape. Darting across roads, narrowly missing horse-drawn carriages, she kept running, her lungs burning with the effort, until the high building of the railway station loomed up in front of her like a symbol of hope, a path to freedom. She ran towards it, her eyes fixed on the entrance, her mind focussed on the one task of reaching it, until she fell through the doors and came to an abrupt halt.

Her chest felt so tight as she cast around looking for an answer to leap out at her. Leave New York. It seemed so simple, and yet she had no idea how. She watched as men and women milled back and forth, some arriving, some leaving. She could hear the whistle of a train and see smoke belching from what must be the platforms. Fighting to catch her breath, she caught sight of the ticket office, a small booth with a man sitting inside. Gathering herself together, she proceeded to walk over, as if she had been making train journeys all her life.

The guard looked at her suspiciously as she approached, this young girl who looked no more than sixteen and as if she had been running for miles. He frowned as she reached the booth and put her bag down carefully on the ground.

"Good afternoon," she said in her parlour voice, "I would like to buy a ticket please."

The guard looked her up and down, "Are you travelling by yourself Ma'am?"

"Yes," Emma Jane nodded, "Yes I am." She smiled at him again, hoping to convey the mannerisms of a young woman raised in the affluence of New York.

"How old are you?"

She feigned offence. "Isn't it rude to inquire as to a young lady's age?"

"I'm sorry Ma'am, but children are not allowed to travel alone. Not without the permission of their parents. Do you have your parent's permission?"

"Of course."

He looked as though he didn't believe her, "Sorry Ma'am."

"You mean you won't sell me a ticket?" Emma Jane's voice rose an octave, partly in an attempt to convey upper class outrage, but also due to panic that she might not be able to escape New York after all.

"I'm sorry Ma'am," the guard repeated, in a tone indicating he was anything but, "Unless you have proof of permission to travel alone, I can't sell you a ticket." He nodded to a man waiting behind her, "If you'll excuse me."

Emma Jane glanced behind her, and then picked up her bag and moved aside. She watched as the gentlemen effortlessly bought and paid for a ticket, cursing her age and her sex. As she walked away from the booth, it suddenly struck her that even if he had agreed to sell her a ticket, she had no money to pay for it.

"Damn!" She exhaled, enunciating one of the many words her mother had slapped her for saying. There was no other way out of the city save by carriage and she would be unable to pay for that either. Frustrated, she made her way back towards the entrance and sank down on a bench by the door.

Life was so unfair. It had been from the moment she was born. Being the youngest might have led to her being spoiled in any other family, but in the Brown household, it merely led to extra chastisement and greater rules. Emma Jane knew she was a disappointment to her parents, primarily because she despised polite New York society. She hated going to parties and balls, the opera bored her senseless and as for the array of young eligible bachelors her mother had introduced her to, it was like trying to pick the wheat when all there was was chaff. They were all bankers like her father, or doctors or lawyers, full of their own importance and blinkered to anything and anywhere that wasn't New York.

The city stifled her in a way that no-one else seemed to be able to imagine. When she had been eleven, her parents had taken her to the country for a holiday. She had loved the green fields and the fresh air that wasn't tainted by city smog. She imagined herself living in a house surrounded by lush green grass and animals, not stuck in some concrete block on a street surrounded by other concrete block.

Mrs Brown, a born, bred and married New Yorker, couldn't understand her youngest daughter's fantasies. "Why would you ever want to live in the country?" she had scolded Emma Jane, "Goodness only knows what would happen to you out there. Why can't you be sensible like Lydia?"

The thought of being anything remotely like Lydia had made Emma Jane want to scream. Her sister, older than her by four years, was every New Yorker's dream. Polite, quiet, interested in the arts, and perfectly happy for her parents to arrange a suitable husband for her. Indeed they had done just that. In six weeks time she was to be married to Arthur Wallis, a prominent New York banker in their father's firm. It was a match made in heaven, or so Mrs Brown believed. Silently, Emma Jane felt sorry for poor love-struck Arthur who would only find out the truth about her vicious and spiteful sister once he had married her.

She was jolted from her reverie by the chiming of the clock in the station and upon glancing at it, she realised she had been absent from home for nearly two hours, having made her bid for freedom shortly after sitting through another insufferable lunch where everyone criticised and admonished her, and Lydia grinned nastily from the opposite side of the table. Her parents had had no idea that she had left, having been too wrapped up in discussing wedding plans, and Emma Jane wondered how long it would take them to realise that she wasn't there. Maybe they never would. She laughed to herself at the thought of them realising in a few days time that she wasn't actually at home.

Standing up, she looked around her and took a deep breath. There had to be some way to get on a train, even without a ticket. She had read stories in the papers about stowaways arriving in New York on ships from Europe. If someone could sneak aboard a ship, how difficult could it be to sneak aboard a train? Casually, she started to walk towards the platform, hoping that she didn't look too out of place, or run into the unfriendly guard. Thankfully, he was nowhere to be seen, and as she descended the large stone steps, she attempted to adopt an air of knowing exactly where she was going.

The main platform had two train lines on it, one for trains heading north, the other south. She began to panic as to what one she should board, having no clear thought about where else in the country she really wanted to go. She paused and thought hard. If she went north, eventually the train would reach the border with Canada and she would definitely be found out. If she went south, there was plenty more time to make decisions. Walking smartly, she headed towards the southbound train, smoothing down her hair as she walked, so as not to appear like some sort of ruffian.

No-one accosted her as she stepped onto the huge steam train and breathing a sigh of relief, she looked around for where to go next. The train was identical to that which she had journeyed on to the country and she knew that there were a number of compartments that could seat several people. Holding her bag tightly, so as not to lose any of the possessions she had deemed essential for her flitting, Emma Jane walked down the length of the train, looking into each compartment, debating whether to join someone or find one that was unoccupied. Deciding on the latter, she eventually stumbled upon a quiet compartment and opened the door to let herself in.

It was like being in her own little paradise, she decided, putting her bag down on one seat and sitting down in another. She could quite happily stay in here for days, with no-one to bother her. On impulse, she stretched her legs out and put her feet up on the opposite seat.

Ten minutes passed, and no-one came to join her, though several people did walk past her door. Emma Jane was enjoying looking out of the window at the people scurrying about, desperate to get on the train before it left. She could identify several businessmen, carrying briefcases, a number of extremely glamorous looking women dressed in furs and a young couple, clearly about to be parted for the first time, clinging to one another in a fierce embrace, ignoring the looks of disapproval from other passengers. Emma Jane watched the tender scene unfold with a burning sense of envy. She wished she had someone so distraught at her departure, someone who would hold her close to them, promise to always love her and wait for her. It was the kind of love she had read about in dime books, the ones she had to hide under her floorboards for fear her mother would see them.

As she sat, dreaming about the great love of her life, her eyes suddenly rested on a familiar face. It was Peter Cullen, one of New York's finest young lawyers, and one of the many men Mrs Brown had attempted to attach her daughter to. Peter was a nice enough young man, but all he ever talked about was the law, which might have been fascinating had she had any idea of what half the words he used meant. Emma Jane slid down in her seat, hoping that he wouldn't glance towards her window. She peered up as much as she dared, but he was still standing, consulting a piece of paper in his hand and looking around as if he were lost. As she watched, he consulted another guard, who pointed towards the northbound train and began propelling him towards it.

"Thank God," she took the Lord's name in vain, letting her breath out slowly. As she did so, the compartment door opened and two women came inside.

"Excuse me, are there people sitting here?" One asked.

"No," Emma Jane said, "No-one."

"Thank you," the same woman replied. She and her companion sat down opposite Emma Jane. She smiled at her, "Whereabouts are you travelling to?"

Emma Jane thought hard, but all the cities magically flew from her mind, "I…uh…I'm not sure."

The woman frowned, "You're not sure?" Her dark eyebrows creased over her equally dark eyes and Emma Jane detected a trace of an accent. "What does your ticket say?"

"I…I don't know. I…I can't read," she lied.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," the woman replied, taking in Emma Jane's expensive looking dress, "I didn't mean to offend."

"You didn't," she assured her companion.

"Would you like me to read it for you?"

"Oh, no, that won't be necessary. The guard said he would fetch me when it came to my stop." Emma Jane knew she would be going to Hell.

"I see," the woman smiled, "I'm Isabella. Isabella DeSanchez."

"Emma Jane Brown," Emma Jane replied, "That's a beautiful name."

"Thank you, my father was Spanish." She gestured to her friend, "This is my sister Mirella." Mirella smiled, but said nothing, "We're going to Denver, to visit our aunt."

"That's…great," Emma Jane replied, hoping she wasn't about to get a chronological history of the DeSanchez family. She was nervous and was starting to think she should get off the train and go home, when it suddenly lurched forward and started to pull out of the station.

"I'm very excited," Isabella continued, "I haven't seen my aunt in over two years. What about you? Are you visiting anyone?"

"My…sister," Emma Jane said, "She lives in…well, where I'm getting off." She chided herself for not paying better attention to her home tutor.

Isabella nodded, but didn't say anything else. The compartment lapsed into silence and Emma Jane breathed a sigh of relief. She never had been the best liar in the world, and she feared that if she spoke the truth, Isabella might be the kind of woman who would call the guard and have her removed.

The countryside rolled by, faster and faster, and it was only when her stomach growled that Emma Jane realised how hungry she was. She wondered what time it was, trying to calculate how long she had been sitting on the train. Three, four hours?

"Is there a refreshment car on the train?" she asked Isabella, causing the latter to glance up from the book she was reading.

"I believe so. Down that way," she gestured left.

"Thank you," Emma Jane stood up and lifted her bag. She smiled at them both and pushed open the compartment door and stepped out into the corridor. The train was deserted in both directions, but she made her way in the direction Isabella had pointed out, glancing into other compartments as she went past. A few people glanced back at her, but most were too engrossed in their own activities. As she reached the door marked 'refreshments,' it suddenly came back to her that she had no money.

"Damn it!" she swore again, standing staring at the door. It was no use, she would just have to go hungry. Turning away from the door, she ran smack into a man coming along behind her, causing her to drop her bag and the contents to spill out. "Damn it!" She bent down and started to retrieve them. The man merely stayed standing looking down at her. Emma Jane lifted her eyes and caught a brief glimpse of his face as she finished picking up her things. When she straightened up, she fixed him with an angry look. "The least you could have done was help me."

He looked at her as though she had suggested he take all his clothes off, "What?"

"Well you did run into me."

"You ran into me," he protested, glaring at her with piercing blue eyes, "You oughta watch where you're goin'."

Emma Jane looked at him and realised he was like no man she had ever encountered in New York. His clothes were decidedly scruffy looking, with a worn look to them and she had noticed his scuffed cowboy boots when she had been on the ground. The most startling thing about him, however, was the mass of golden hair that hung down past his shoulders. She had never seen long hair on a man before.

He caught her looking and smiled lazily, "You got somethin' to say?"

"Like what?" she replied hotly.

"I don't know, like you're sorry?"

Emma Jane drew herself up. She wasn't about to be spoken to by a man who looked as though he had fallen off the back of a hay cart. On the other hand, nor did she wish to get involved in a fight with a man who was carrying a gun the size of the one strapped to his waist. Opening and closing her mouth like a fish for a few seconds, she pushed past him and made her way back along the corridor, leaving him grinning in her wake.

When she arrived back at the compartment, Isabella looked up, "Did you find it?"

"Yes," Emma Jane replied, but she didn't elaborate. Instead, she threw her bag back onto the seat and slumped down in her own, not caring about the state of her dress.

Isabella said no more. She had her suspicions about the young girl in the compartment, but it wasn't in her nature to enquire.

Emma Jane sat looking out of the window, her arms folded across her chest, still angry at her encounter with the long-haired man. She hated being made fun of and she knew he had been laughing at her. She had a good mind to go back down the train and find him to give him a piece of her mind. She was just conjuring a mental picture of that very moment, when all of a sudden, a guard appeared at the compartment door.

"Tickets please ladies," he said politely.

Emma Jane froze as Isabella and Mirella hunted for their tickets. What was she going to do? She didn't have one to produce. Her heart started to pound in her chest as he inspected the two tickets offered to him and then looked questioningly at her.

"Umm…" she started frantically looking in her bag, hoping that by some miracle, a ticket would appear, "I…uh…"

Isabella turned to the guard, "Aren't you supposed to let her know when it is her stop?"

The guard looked back at her, "I don't know what you mean, Ma'am." He looked back at Emma Jane, "Do you have your ticket Ma'am?"

"I…it should be…" Emma Jane continued to scrabble uselessly, "I mean it…"

The guard began to look impatient, "Do you have a ticket?"

Emma Jane looked at him wide-eyed, "I…"

"Right, please come with me," he stepped forward and held out his hand. When she didn't move he waved it at her, "Come on Ma'am." Emma Jane still didn't move, so he stepped further forward and grabbed her arm.

"Ow!" she protested, "hey, let go of me!"

"Let her go!" Isabella declared, standing up, "She hasn't done anything wrong!" Mirella merely sat agog.

"She doesn't have a ticket, that makes her a stowaway," the guard pulled Emma Jane out of the compartment and into the corridor, "You'll have to come with me," he said, pushing her in front of him and making her walk forward, "We don't allow stowaways on the train."

"Please, listen, I'm sorry," Emma Jane protested, "I had no money, and I really needed to get on the train…"

"Save it for the police Miss."

"The police!" Emma Jane stopped dead and turned to face him, "The police? But…the police?"

"When we stop at Chicago, I'll hand you over to the police and they can send you back to New York."

"No, but…" she lurched slightly as the train started to slow, "Look, I know what this appears to be, but I can assure you that I can pay. If you'll just let me…"

"I'm sorry Miss," he looked anything but, "I'm afraid I'll have to give you to the authorities."

Emma Jane groaned loudly in despair. She could just see her parents faces, not to mention Lydia's, if she was taken back to her house by a police officer. The shame would be terrible. She would never be allowed to leave the house again, and no-one would ever marry her. She would rot away in her bedroom until she became old and wrinkled and then die a lonely death. As these thoughts swirled around in her mind, the train came to a sudden halt and the guard propelled her towards the nearest door. A number of people were getting off, so they had to wait.

"What's going on?" Another guard asked, coming upon them.

"No ticket," her captor explained.

"I see," the other guard looked her sternly in the face, "You can't ride the train without a ticket Miss."

"Yes, I see that now," Emma Jane tried and failed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

The older guard pressed his mouth into a thin line. If she had been his daughter, he would have slapped her hard. They waited until the remaining passengers had disembarked and then the two of them propelled Emma Jane off of the train.

"I'll get the duty officer," the older guard said, glad to escape from the cheeky young woman. He began walking smartly across the platform to where the police kept a presence at the station.

"What's going to happen to me?" Emma Jane asked.

"You'll be accompanied back to New York on the next train."

"You might as well send me to the gallows," Emma Jane replied.

The guard smiled, "Not that bad, surely?"

Emma Jane was about to respond, when the other guard reappeared followed by a uniformed police officer who looked anything but understanding.

"This is her," the guard pointed at her, "No ticket."

"I see," the police officer looked her up and down, "How old are you?"

"Eighteen," she added on another couple of years.

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, "Name? Address?"

"Emma Jane Brown, 41 West 61st Street," she sighed, "but please, can't you let me carry on? I'm…"

"Sorry Miss," the police officer said taking her arm, "but I'm afraid you'll have to come with me." He started to pull her away from the train.

Emma Jane resisted, "No, please, listen to me!"

At that moment, Isabella appeared at the door, "Excuse me? Where are you taking her?"

"Back to New York," the police officer replied, grabbing her arm once again, "Don't make me cuff you, Miss."

"Cuff me!" Emma Jane was horrified, "But…"

"You can't take her," Isabella protested, "She is my friend!"

"I'm sorry, but the law is the law! Miss," he turned to Emma Jane again, "If you don't come quietly, I will be forced to carry you."

The thought made Emma Jane blush. Nothing would be worse than being manhandled through the station. She nodded, "All right, officer." She turned back to Isabella, "Thanks anyway."

Isabella grimaced, "I'm sorry." She had just been starting to like her compartment companion. But what a story she would have to tell her aunt in Denver!

Emma Jane allowed the police officer to lead her along the platform, mindful that people were looking at her in shock and disgust. Her reputation would be tarnished forever at this rate. Behind her, she heard the whistle of the train and knew it would be pulling out at any moment.

The police officer stopped when he reached his station and set about sending a telegram back to New York. Emma Jane saw her chance. It was madness, but she couldn't get into any worse trouble. Turning, she quickly fled back down the platform to where the train was pulling out.

"Miss Brown!" the police officer, seeing her flight, started to come after her. But Emma Jane was quicker. She ran onto the platform and began running alongside the train.

"Wait!" she called.

"Miss Brown!" she could hear the officer behind her. If she didn't get on the train…

At that moment, a kind-hearted passenger, clearly oblivious as to the real reason the young woman was running along the platform, opened the nearest door and held out his hand. Emma Jane grabbed it and allowed herself to be pulled on board. Gasping with the exertion of running, she glanced out of the window to see the police officer pull up as the train sped away. With a slight giggle of relief, she turned to thank her rescuer and saw it was the honey-haired man from earlier.

"Causin' trouble?" he asked her, grinning in that smug, self-satisfied way.

"I…" she could barely speak from running and from shock, "I…"

"Come on, sit down," he guided her to the nearest compartment which was empty save for one lone businessman, who looked over his paper at them.

The man shot him a dangerous look, "Go on, git!"

The businessman caught sight of the gun, quickly lifted his briefcase and left the compartment. Emma Jane practically fell into a seat, clutching her chest.

"You wanna tell me what yer runnin' for?" her hero asked her.

"I…I don't h…have a ticket," she replied, "they were…going to…to send me back to…New York."

"A stowaway, huh?" he grinned at her again, "Yer a bit young to be crossin' the country by yerself."

Emma Jane glared at him, "I'm sixteen!" she raged, "I'm not a child!"

"Never said you were. Where you goin'?"

"I don't know," she replied truthfully, "I just got on the train. I don't even know where it's going."

"Denver," he supplied.

"Oh…well, I guess I'm going to Denver then."

"What you gonna do there?"

She was getting tired of his interrogation, "I don't know, get a job?"

He laughed, "A job? You? You look like you just got back from lunch at a fancy restaurant." He looked down at her dress, which was clinging to her chest with the heat of her body.

Emma Jane stood up quickly, determined to get away from this man and those eyes that seemed to bore into her. "I have to make sure I avoid the guards," she said, changing the subject. "I mean I…" she was cut off by the force of the train slamming on its brakes and she fell headlong into her hero's lap. Instantly, she jerked away from him, the feeling of being so close to a man being completely alien.

The train came to a juddering halt and she could hear footsteps in the corridors. For a moment, neither of them said anything, until suddenly the door to the compartment was wrenched open and the same guard that had accosted her the first time appeared.

"There you are," he said angrily, "Now Miss, you gotta get off this train. Do you hear me?" he stepped forward towards her, but her companion stepped between them. The guard looked at him, "Can I help you, sir?"

"Yeah you can. You can tell me why you're chasin' my wife all over this train?"

The guard looked stunned, "Wife?"

"Wife?" Emma Jane echoed stupidly before catching on, "Yes, wife. I'm his wife." She stepped forward and linked her arm through his, hoping it looked convincing.

The guard didn't look so convinced, "You're his wife." His tone was one of disbelief.

"That's right, she is," the man said, squaring up to the guard whom he was at least five inches taller than, "You got a problem with that?"

The guard swallowed hard, "No sir, not about that. But there is still the matter of a ticket. She doesn't have one."

"She does have one. How do you think we got on this train?"

"I don't know, but she doesn't have one now."

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out some crumpled bank notes. He peeled two off and handed them to the guard, "That be enough?"

The guard took the money, looked at it and stuffed it into his pocket, writing a quick receipt and passing it to Emma Jane, who had been watching the transaction in stultified amazement.

"Thank you sir, ma'am." The guard touched his hat and left the compartment. A few moments later, the train started up again.

The man sat back down on the seat and put one foot up on the opposite seat. When Emma Jane didn't join him, he looked up lazily at her, "Ain't you got somethin' to say?"

Emma Jane let out a shaky breath, "Th…thank you. I…you didn't have to…"

"It's nothin'."

"I can't pay you, at least, not right now."

"Don't worry about that now. We'll think of somethin'." He held out his hand, "Hank Lawson."

Emma Jane shook it, "Emma Jane Brown."

"Well now Emma Jane Brown," Hank pulled on her wrist and forced her to sit next to him, "How bout you start by tellin' me what the hell's goin' on?"


	2. Chapter Two

I don't own the character of Hank Lawson, only Emma Jane and all original characters that flow from her.

Emma Jane was surprised how easy Hank Lawson was to talk to. He didn't patronise her like everyone else in her life, instead he listened while she explained why she had run away from home, about how awful it was there and about how she didn't want to go back.

"How far did you think you were gonna git with that?" he gestured to the small bag she had in her possession.

Emma Jane looked down at it and smiled in spite of herself, "Not far I guess."

"What's in it?"

"Just some things," she replied, "you know, things I thought I might need."

He raised his eyebrows and took a cigarette from his pocket, "You didn't think you'd need clothes?"

Emma Jane didn't reply. It hadn't exactly crossed her mind during the few minutes she had had to plan her flight to pack anything else to wear. She looked down at the purple dress she was wearing, creased and with flecks of dirt on it. Her mother would have been furious had she seen it.

Hank followed her gaze as he lit his cigarette. She was pretty, he had to give her that. Her face was pleasant to look at, with those wide, trusting blue eyes and a small nose and mouth. That mane of red hair wasn't unwelcome either and he couldn't help wondering if she was a real redhead. She saw him looking at her, "Nice dress."

Emma Jane smiled, "Thank you." She felt slightly uncomfortable in the silence and the way he was looking at her made her shiver slightly. Bar her father and her elder brother Thomas, she had never been alone in male company. "So, tell me about you," she said in an effort to break the tension.

"Me?" he replied, grinning at her.

She nodded, "Do you live in Denver?"

Hank shook his head, "Nope, little town name of Colorado Springs bout a day outside Denver."

"Oh," Emma Jane thought back to her fantasy of lush green fields and wide open spaces, "Is it nice?"

"It's ok, if you like that kinda thing."

"How many people live there?"

"A few. I have my business there."

"You have a business?" Emma Jane brightened in surprise.

He laughed, "That surprise you?"

"No!" she didn't want to be offensive, "I didn't mean…" she broke off, "What kind of business are you in?"

He raised his eyebrows, "The hospitality business."

"Really?" Emma Jane was surprised. He hadn't struck her as the type to have a restaurant, "What were you doing in New York."

"Yer just too damn nosy for yer own good, ain'tcha?" Emma Jane turned away in embarrassment. Hank didn't say anything else. He watched her as she looked out of the window. He knew she was uncomfortable sitting so close to him, but he hadn't given her the opportunity to move seats, and her certainly wasn't about to. "What you plannin' on doing?"

Emma Jane turned back to face him, "What do you mean?"

"When you git to Denver. What are you goin' to do?"

Emma Jane paused. The truth was, she didn't know what she was going to do. She hadn't been able to think much further past being on the train, but as it rolled steadily onwards and they got closer and closer to the end of the line, she knew she would have to make some decisions. "Well, I can't go back to New York. My parents will kill me."

"Yer goin' to have to go back sometime."

"No I don't," she lifted her chin defiantly, "I can look after myself."

"Doin' what?" Hank persisted.

"I don't know!" She resisted the interrogation, "I'll think about it when I get there."

Back in New York, Frederick Brown was pacing around the parlour, his wife Amanda sat on the couch, wringing her hands with a handkerchief. Anyone who didn't know Mrs Brown would think she was upset and worried about her daughter's disappearance, but those closer to home, knew she was substituting the cloth for Emma Jane's neck.

Lydia was sat on the opposite settee, caught between annoyance at attention being diverted away from her and her upcoming nuptials and excitement at the trouble her little sister was going to be in when she arrived home. Having discovered a few hours ago that Emma Jane wasn't in her room, she had gone to her mother, who had immediately contacted her father at his office, who had in turn contacted the police. An officer had come to their home and was in the process of relating the story of Emma Jane at Chicago train station.

"Why didn't they stop her!" Mr Brown raged, turning on the young man who had come to help, "How could they let her go running off once they had apprehended her?"

"From what I heard, sir, they didn't have much choice. Your daughter is quick on her feet. The Chicago officer did give chase…"

"How did she get on the train here in the first place?" Mr Brown continued, "Without a ticket," he added for emphasis.

The officer tried to keep his temper, "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know."

"She's doing this on purpose," Mrs Brown said, her voice tightly controlled, "She's doing this to get at me."

"Amanda," Mr Brown warned.

"She's been nothing but trouble since the day she was born!"

Lydia smiled in satisfaction from her position opposite her mother. There was really going to be one hell of a showdown.

"Take that smile off of your face," her father said, catching sight of her pleasure, "Your sister could be in trouble."

Lydia rolled her eyes, "I don't care. Mother's right, she's always been nothing but trouble. I've never done anything as selfish as running away."

Mr Brown sighed heavily, "What happened after she got on the train at Chicago?"

"Well…" the officer cleared his throat, knowing this would be the most explosive detail, "the train was stopped and a guard was sent to fetch her. However…"

"However, what?"

"However, an unidentified man told the guard he was your daughter's husband."

Mr Brown's eyes grew wide. Mrs Brown stood up quickly. Lydia's mouth dropped open in shock.

"Husband!" the former blustered, "Husband!"

The officer nodded, "Yes sir."

"Do you mean to tell me," Mrs Brown said, "that my daughter has not only run away, but has gotten…married as well?"

"It would appear that way, ma'am, yes."

Lydia's face twisted into a scowl. This was just the sort of thing Emma Jane would do to get one over on her. "I hate her!"

Mr Brown ignored his eldest child, "What happens now?"

"Well sir, we've wired our colleagues in Denver and when your daughter disembarks, they will take her into custody and bring her back to New York."

Emma Jane didn't know how long she had been sleeping, but it was dark outside the window when she opened her eyes. She was lying out across a number of seats, Hank opposite her was smoking another cigarette. When he saw she was awake, he smiled at her.

"Welcome back."

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, pulling herself up and rubbing her sore neck.

"Ages," Hank replied, "Thought I was gonna have to carry you off the train."

"Are we there? At Denver?"

"Yup."

Emma Jane sat up and smoothed down her dress. This was the moment where she was going to have to make a decision about her life. What was she going to do now? First, she had to thank her companion, "Thank you for being such pleasant company Mr Lawson," she smiled, "It's been an…interesting trip."

Hank laughed, "We ain't finished yet."

Emma Jane's smile slipped, "We're not?"

"You still owe me for one ticket."

"Oh, well, once I get myself sorted I can give you the money. Or I can wire it to you in Colorado Springs."

Hank was amused by her naivety. "Yer just gonna git off the train and…poof…yer gonna have a job? Be self-supportive?" He laughed at her look of uncertainty, "You ain't got nothin' darlin'. Mommy and Daddy ain't likely to send you nothing; now, are they?"

"Guess not," she replied truthfully, "So, what did you have in mind?"

Hank had a number of things in mind, things the little well-bred girl in front of him had probably never even imagined. Then there was another idea, and he quite liked it.

"Well, I'm guessin' that once we git into Denver, the police are gonna want to take you back to New York." He smiled at her look of desperation, "Course I could always help you out, seein' as you owe me anyhow."

Emma Jane knew he was trying to frighten her, and she wasn't about to succumb. She fixed her gaze on his and didn't waiver, "What could you do for me?"

"Well, they already think we're married. Why not make it so as we are?"

Emma Jane burst out laughing before she realised it. It was the most…ludicrous thing she had ever heard! Marry him? It was just unthinkable!

"Marry you?" she articulated, "Don't be so ridiculous!"

Hank spread his hands, "What's so ridiculous about it?"

"I…I barely know you! I mean you're hardly my…" she had been about to say equal, but managed to stop herself in time.

Hank knew what she had meant, "Don't sound like any of those fancy men in New York have come up to scratch neither."

"Yes but…" Emma Jane gasped still in disbelief, "You're really asking me to marry you?"

"It's an arrangement," he said, "helps you out of a bind."

"And what do you get out of it?" she demanded.

"Everything a husband gits."

Emma Jane's breath caught in her throat at the inference, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. Could it really be any worse than going home to New York? She would be lucky to survive the inevitable onslaught she would receive from her parents. Part of her, a small part, couldn't help but think that it would certainly be a slap in the face to her mother and Lydia. They would be shocked, horrified at the fact she was married, and Lydia would be spitting that she had married first. The naïve part of her felt a buzz of excitement at the prospect.

"All right, Mr Lawson," she said magnanimously, "I _will_ marry you."

Hank smiled lazily at her. This was going to be sweet.

By the time the train stopped at Denver, Emma Jane had more or less convinced herself that she was embroiled in a grand scale love affair. This handsome man, she had to admit he was handsome, had asked her to marry him and go live with him in his pretty little town. Who was she to refuse such an offer?

"C'mon then," Hank held out his hand to her as the train pulled to a halt, "We need to git out of here before the law shows up."

She took his hand, tingling slightly as his long fingers folded around hers as they left the compartment. Being the last stop for the train, everyone was vying to get off, so once again, they had to wait. It reminded her of Chicago, only she hoped there was no police officer to take her away when she stepped onto the platform. Hank didn't say anything and when she tried to ask him how they were to evade capture, he merely shushed her.

As they left the train amid a throng of people, Emma Jane caught sight of two uniformed police officers standing a few feet away. Hank had clearly seen them too, and grabbing her hand tighter, he crouched slightly and led through the masses, weaving so as to put as much distance between them and the law as possible. She followed, her heart in her mouth, yet all the time fighting the urge to laugh out loud like a child playing a game. Hank pulling up shortly led to her crashing headlong into his back.

"Watch it," he growled at her, "keep your head down!"

Emma Jane did as she was told, allowing him to keep dragging her onwards, until she was so dizzy and disoriented she wasn't sure where she was. Eventually, she glanced up quickly to see that they had made significant progress away from the police officers and were, in fact, close to the exit of the station. A few more steps and they were outside, away from the smoky air and into early evening Denver which, to Emma Jane's surprise, seemed almost immediately more clean and fresh than New York ever had. Hank continued to drag her behind him however until they were well away from the main entrance. Then he half-threw her into the nearest alleyway and covered her body with his.

"What…?" Emma Jane tried to speak against his considerable weight, but he was crushing her so that she couldn't raise her objection. Pressed against his chest, she could smell a mixture of soap and smoke that wasn't entirely unpleasant, but she began to tremble as there seemed no let up in their contact. After what seemed like forever, the pressure was lessened and Hank moved away from her, allowing her the space to breathe again. "What were you doing?" she finally demanded.

"Makin' sure that the law didn't see you," he replied acerbically, "Either that or I just throw you to 'em. It's yer choice."

"No, thank you," she replied formally, "I appreciate it." She smoothed down her dress again, almost using it as a comfort gesture. "Now what?" she raised her face questioningly to his.

"Now we find a judge," he grinned at her. "Stage isn't til first light."

"Stage?" she reacted, "stage, as in stagecoach?"

"How else did you think we were gonna git there?"

"Well I…"she floundered, "the train, I mean…"

He shook his head in mock frustration, "Train don't go there. We gotta take the stage. _After _we find a judge."

"Will there be one available at this time of night?" Emma Jane asked.

"Course, if you know where to go."

"And you do, I suppose?" She raised her eyebrows, "Married a lot of women, have you?"

"Only the ones I like."

She had no response to this, instead she let the feeling of someone finally liking her wash over her and as Hank led her through the streets, she felt as though she was walking on air. She was going to get married! It was all so exciting. When they eventually arrived at a small, ordinary looking building, Hank told her to wait outside while he disappeared inside. She did as ordered, until a few moments later, the door opened and Hank pulled her inside.

The building was cold, and Emma Jane shivered through her thin dress. The corridors had marble floors and their footsteps echoed as they travelled into the belly of the building. When they eventually came to their destination, Emma Jane saw it was a small room with a table at one end and rows of seats. As Hank led her towards the table, she saw an older man standing behind it, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"What is this place?" she asked, speaking in hushed tones.

"It's where we're gettin' married, that's what," Hank replied. He nodded at the man, "This is her."

The man looked Emma Jane over, his eyes flicking back and forth between her and Hank. "How old is she?" he asked.

"Old enough," came the reply, which seemed to satisfy the man.

"Hank, aren't we getting married in a church?" Emma Jane asked.

Hank laughed, "I ain't one for religion."

The next few minutes passed by in a blur. The man, whom she presumed was the judge or at least someone capable of performing a wedding ceremony, said a few words, then asked her if she would take Hank to be her husband. She answered in the affirmative, then Hank answered his version of the same question. The judge then told them to swap rings, at which point Hank declared they didn't have any. Finally, he pronounced them husband and wife and that Hank could kiss his new bride.

Emma Jane swallowed hard as he leaned in towards her and pressed his mouth against hers. When he drew back and turned to talk to the judge, she felt a cold hand grip her insides. She had just married a man she barely knew. She was his, legally. Suddenly, the childlike enthusiasm and excitement, the feeling of getting one over on her parents and Lydia vanished and she was smacked in the face by the cold hand of reality.

She allowed Hank to propel her out of the building and back onto the city streets, where she shivered involuntarily in the night air. Upon seeing this, Hank shucked off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. "When we git home, you can get some material from Loren's store an' make yerself a few dresses." Emma Jane looked at him, wide-eyed, "But right now, we gotta find ourselves some place to sleep."

A few hours later, having found a cheap hotel and had a basic meal of some form of meat, the composition of which she didn't like to query, Emma Jane found herself standing in a hotel bedroom, surveying the room in front of her. It was basic personified, and very far removed from her room back in New York. The floors were wooden, and all the room contained was a bed, a small table and two chairs, a chamber pot and a basin for washing in. It was cold too and she found herself longing for home, even with the row she would be sure to receive.

Hank came up behind her and put his mouth close to her ear, "Perfect, don'tcha think?"

His words on the train in answer to her question as to what he would get out of the marriage came flooding back to her. Everything a husband gets. She knew what that meant now and also knew she could not refuse. But she didn't know what to do, so she stood there dumbly, as if waiting for him to direct her.

Hank was already pulling on his boots and when he saw her frozen to the spot, he grinned at her, "Ain'tcha gonna git undressed? You can't sleep in that thing."

"I…I don't have anything else to put on," she replied, envisioning her warm flannel nightgown lying patiently on her pillow at home.

He laughed, "You ain't gonna need anything else to put on." He continued removing his clothes while she stood watching him. He pulled off his shirt to reveal a lean, tanned chest and shoulders and the rest of his clothes followed, until he was sitting on the bed naked, grinning at her. "Come here."

Emma Jane didn't move. Her feet were rooted to the spot with fear. This was an area of life she had never had to enter before. Her mother had never spoken of such things to her and as for Lydia… "I…"

"You ain't gonna turn me down now, are you?" he questioned her, "Not on our weddin' night, not when I've taken such good care of you?"

She felt pressured, knowing that if it hadn't been for him, she would have been sent straight back home, and yet the intensity of the situation made her feel like vomiting. She walked slowly over to him, stopping a few paces away and trying to keep her eyes on his face so that she wouldn't have to look at…anything else. Just when she was comfortable with the distance however, Hank grabbed her arm and pulled her in front of him. She let out a slight cry of fear and surprise and as he put his hands on her hips, she was shaking. Her dress buttoned up the front and he began undoing it, with the ease of a man who had unbuttoned many womens' dresses. When it was loosened, he pulled it down over her shoulders and hips so that it landed in a pile at her feet, leaving her standing merely in her slip. She stepped out of the dress and Hank kicked it across the floor, causing her to wince at what her mother would have said if she had seen it. Hank's hands were back on her waist again, touching her gently through the fabric. When he looked up at her, his eyes were liquid with desire and before she knew where she was, he hand pulled her down on top of him and flipped her over, so that she was pinned underneath his body, her legs wedged apart.

For a moment, he simply lay looking down at her, enjoying her discomfort. Then he bent his head and kissed her. It was not the simple kiss of the wedding ceremony this time however. Instead, he forced her to open her mouth and slid his tongue inside. Emma Jane tried to recoil in horror, but he had her so that she could barely move. She was forced to acquiesce and he kissed her long and deep until she felt she would have no air left. When he lifted his mouth from hers, he moved it to her neck, trailing kisses down over her throat while his hands started to pull her slip up so that it was bunched around her waist. He slid her silk panties down and entered her, causing her to cry out in pain.

In her life, she had never imagined what wifely duties must be like, but any remote thought couldn't have been further from what was happening to her now. Hank moved inside her, slow at first and then progressing to hard, brutal thrusts, which caused her to screw her eyes up and bite her lip in an effort to prevent herself from screaming. Hot tears pricked her eyelids while Hank breathed heavily into the crease of her neck. Eventually, she felt a slowing in his pace, as his body began to shudder over her own, then he collapsed on top of her, spent.

He lay on top of her for a long moment, getting his breath back. When he finally raised his head and looked at her, he saw the pain on her face and gently pushed her hair back from her eyes, "Don't worry," he said, rolling off of her and onto his back, "You'll git used to it."

Emma Jane drew her legs up to her chest, pulling her slip back down so as to cover her modesty. She scrabbled beneath herself for the scratchy sheets and pulled them over her, wanting to hide herself from him. As she lay facing away from him, the tears began to trickle down her cheeks and she could feel her insides heaving, wanting to break out into sobs. Something made her hold them in, however, and as she tried to get sleep, listening to Hank's rhythmic breathing beside her, she couldn't help but ask herself what the hell she had done.

The following morning, Hank woke her before it was even light. As she tried to get out of bed, she felt a pain between her legs and winced as she stood up.

"Happens when it's yer first time," he offered as he splashed himself with water from the basin, "It'll go away in a minute. Here," he tossed her dress to her, "Better hurry up if we want to make the stage."

Emma Jane slowly pulled on her dress, fastening the buttons with shaking fingers. She went forward to the basin and splashed herself with the water, wishing that she could get into a hot bath run for her by the maid and clean away the dirt she felt was clinging to her, in more ways than one.

The stagecoach to Colorado Springs was setting off from the city square, and after a hurried breakfast, of which she could eat little, they stepped outside in the morning air and she followed Hank as he led her through the streets. As she walked, she glanced at people coming in the opposite direction, wondering if they knew what had happened to her the previous night. Before they reached the square, however, Hank darted down a side street and told her to wait for him. For a moment, she considered running away, back to the train station. Why was she staying with this man? 'Because you're legally married to him,' her inner voice replied in a smug voice. He returned a few minutes later and told her to hold out her hand.

"Why?" she asked, suspiciously.

"Just do it," he ordered her. When she did, he placed a ring in it, "There you go. Can't say I never bought you a ring." Emma Jane looked at it sitting in the palm of her hand. "Don't just look at it," he said, "put it on." She did as she was told and he held it up to the light, "Don't that look pretty?" He didn't wait for an answer, "C'mon, we gotta go." He dragged her towards the square where the stagecoach was waiting to be boarded.

There were two other travellers, a man and a woman, who gave her a mere cursory glance before climbing inside. Emma Jane stood and waited her turn, but certainly didn't expect Hank to lift her by the waist and virtually throw her inside. He climbed in after her and shut the door, sitting as close to her as the stage would allow.

Emma Jane sat looking out of the window as the final preparations were made. Would this be the last time she would see any form of civilisation, she wondered? She had envisioned Colorado Springs in her minds eye, but now wondered if it would be as rosy a place as the picture she had painted for herself.

"Emma Jane? Emma Jane!" the sound of a woman calling her name caused her to break from her dream and to her amazement, she saw Isabella hurrying towards the stagecoach. "My goodness, it's you!" She exclaimed brightly, "How did you get here?"

"It's…it's a long story," she replied truthfully, "I'm going to Colorado Springs."

"I see," Isabella glanced into the stage, "By yourself?"

"No, with my…" she paused, "with my friend." She didn't say anything more.

"Oh. Well, if you're ever back in Denver, do look me up," Isabella replied, "Take care." With that, she was hurrying back across the square, leaving Emma Jane no time to ask where she should look her up.

At that moment, the stage lurched forwards and started to pull out of the square. She watched as the buildings went by and they turned onto the road that would take them into the heart of Colorado. The atmosphere in the stage was tense and Emma Jane felt incredibly uncomfortable, no more so than when Hank put his hand on her leg.

A short way into the journey, they arrived at a small town in which the other travellers departed, leaving them as they only two in the stage. Despite there now being more room, Hank made no attempt to move further away from her and kept his hand on her leg.

"How far is it?" she asked.

"Bout half a day longer," he replied, "Don't worry, we'll be home before bed time." He grinned at her and she looked away, focusing instead on the landscape. The green began to give way to brush and dust, the latter which stung her eyes if she leaned too far out of the window. Eventually, she started to see signs of habitation, small houses on the outskirts of what she assumed would be the town.

As the stage rolled in to Colorado Springs, Emma Jane found herself growing even more depressed. There was barely anything there save for a few buildings. There wasn't even a proper road, just dirt. She thought of New York's paved streets and felt a stab of longing go through her heart. In what she assumed was the centre of the town, although it was hardly obvious, the stage drove in a semi-circle and stopped outside of a building entitled 'Bray's Mercantile.'

Hank opened the door of the stage and jumped out before leaning back in to offer her his hand. Not trusting herself to stay on her own two feet unaided, she took it and allowed him to help her out. As she landed on the dry dust, she looked down at her boots which barely resembled the shiny black ones she had put on a few days ago.

"Loren!" He gestured to an older man, "Come meet Emma Jane."

The man, Loren, came down the steps from his shop and came towards them. He held out his hand, "Please to meet you Miss…?"

"Brown," Emma Jane replied at the same time as Hank said, "Lawson."

Loren looked confused, "Well, which is it?"

"Lawson," Hank replied firmly.

"Coincidence," Loren replied, "She a new girl?"

"She's my wife," Hank replied in a self-satisfied tone.

Loren's expression became that of profound shock, "Your wife?"

"Yup, all the way from New York."

"I thought you went to get girls?"

"Well, I got me this one instead."

"You got married!" Loren was clearly still in shock.

"Who got married?" another younger man said, joining them, "welcome back Hank."

"Thanks Jake," Hank replied, shaking his hand, "I did. This is my wife, Emma Jane."

Emma Jane tried to smile, but it must have looked more like a grimace, because Jake smirked at her, "You're his wife?"

She nodded, "Yes. And you are?"

"Jake Slicker at your service ma'am," he bowed to her, causing everyone around to start laughing.

"Leave her alone," Hank said in mock protest, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her to him, "I gotta get her settled in." He pulled her with him around the side of the stage and towards another building. Emma Jane looked up as they approached and saw the word 'Saloon' painted over the door.

She pulled up sharply, "That's a…"

"Saloon," Hank supplied for her, "Told you I was in the hospitality business."

"But, I can't…" she was shocked into speechlessness. A saloon? A drinking den? She couldn't go in there, no respectable woman could.

"You can, and you will," Hank replied, pulling her towards the door where two women wearing dresses cut down to the top of their breasts were leaning against the wall. He grinned at them and slapped them both on the rear, "You don't git paid to stand around out here. Git some business going."

"Business?" Emma Jane gasped, "Are they…?" She didn't need an answer, she already knew, "Hank…"

He turned to face her, his expression hard, "This is where I live, this is my business and you're my wife. Now I ain't gonna make you whore, but this is where you belong now, like it or not. I didn't force you to marry me." He broke into a smile again, "Welcome home."

TBC


	3. Chapter Three

I don't own any of the characters of Dr Quinn Medicine Woman, only Emma Jane and all original characters who flow from her.

By nightfall, Emma Jane had shed so many tears that she was surprised she had any left. She hated herself for what she had done and she hated Hank for doing it to her. It was like being in a Hell that she couldn't get out of. Upon entering the saloon, she had been greeted by a dark, gloomy interior where several men sat around drinking and the smell of alcohol and smoke was overpowering. The women that circulated the room oozed a sexuality that made Emma Jane feel fear and nausea in equal measures, then she would remember what she had let Hank do to her the previous night and reckoned she was no better.

The only thing in her favour, was the gold wedding bank on the fourth finger of her left hand, the marker that symbolised she was Hank's wife, the lady of the manor, and that led the men who frequented it to look away whenever her frightened gaze rested upon them.

He had shown her up to their bedroom, an even worse version of the cheap hotel room, tossed her some money and told her to go to Loren's to buy material to make clothes for herself. Emma Jane had stood staring at the coins in her hand, wondering if there was any way she could use them to escape the town. But this was not New York, and it was almost impossible to run anywhere. As she crossed the dusty street to Loren's store, she could feel every eye upon her, and when she glanced over, she saw Jake smirking at her from the doorway of his barber's shop.

Upon entering Loren's store, she hovered nervously in the doorway until the older man took pity on her.

"You looking for anything in particular?"

"Material," she said, "for…for making dresses?"

"Sure," he came around from behind the counter and directed her over to a shelf which housed rolls of fabric in various colours and shades. "That's the selection. I'm sure you can afford whatever you want." He went back to the counter and Emma Jane realised Hank must have told him that she came from a prominent family.

With an inexperienced eye, she looked over all the fabric and eventually selected some blue and green. Lifting the rolls, she carried them back over to the counter.

"How much do you want?" he asked her.

Emma Jane looked at him blankly, "How…how do you mean?"

"Length," he said, "what length do you want?"

"Uh…I…I don't…"

"Enough to make two dresses?" he filled in for her. She nodded and he started to cut, feeling a rush of sympathy for her. She had clearly never had to fend for herself.

Emma Jane watched him until he had finished and then held out the money Hank had given her, not even sure how much he was going to charge her. Loren took the correct amount from her and handed her the package. She thanked him and made her way back out into the daylight, where she looked around at her new home. There wasn't much to it. The saloon, the store, the telegraph office and what she had been told was the boarding house. It was certainly different from what she was used to.

As she stood staring, a young girl, about her own age, came up alongside her. She was slightly taller than Emma Jane, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and she was wearing a light blue dress.

"Hello," she said pleasantly.

"Hello," Emma Jane replied weakly.

"You're new in town," the girl said. It was a statement, not a question. Emma Jane nodded, "I'm Abigail Bray."

"Oh, are you Mr Bray's daughter?" Emma Jane asked, focusing on something other than herself.

Abigail nodded, "What's your name?"

"Emma Jane Brown. I mean, Lawson," she quickly corrected herself. "Emma Jane Lawson."

"You're married to Hank." Emma Jane nodded, "I saw you arrive this morning. You looked a little scared."

"I was. I am," Emma Jane said, "It's…I've never lived anywhere like this before. I'm from New York," she added, as if Abigail wouldn't know.

"I know," she nodded, "everyone's talking about you."

"They are?"

Abigail linked her arm through Emma Jane's. "It's been ages since I've had anyone to talk to. Why don't we go to the meadow and talk?"

"The meadow?"

"Yes. It's just over this way," Abigail pointed, "It's lovely and peaceful. You can tell me all about life in New York." Emma Jane glanced helplessly at the package in her arms, "Oh you can take that back later. I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to sew."

"I don't know how," Emma Jane admitted miserably, "I've never done it before. I always had…" she broke off, not wanting to come across as looking down on Abigail."Oh, don't worry," Abigail said, "I can help you. I've been sewing and making things since I was little. My mother taught me and I can teach you."

"Thank you," Emma Jane whispered, not trusting herself not to cry.

"Come on," Abigail said brightly, "let's go and have that talk." She led Emma Jane away from the barren looking street and around the back of a number of buildings out to where there was a large, lush green field. There were a number of people in it with some young children running around. It reminded Emma Jane of Central Park and she could feel her spirits lift slightly. Abigail chose a suitable spot and planted herself on the ground, gesturing for Emma Jane to follow suit, "Your dress couldn't get much worse," she said honestly.

Emma Jane looked down at the purple dress and had to admit that Abigail was right. She sat down next to her new friend, carefully laying her package beside her.

"So," Abigail said, "tell me all about New York."

Emma Jane didn't really want to talk about home, but she gamely launched into a spiel about the city and the people in it. She talked about her family and her house and before she knew what had happened, she was sobbing again.

"Don't cry," Abigail comforted her, "It's not all that bad here."

"I know, I don't mean to…to be horrible about the town, it's lovely. It's just…" Emma Jane broke off and wiped her eyes viciously with the back of her hand, "I think I've made a huge mistake in coming here."

"You love Hank though, don't you?" Emma Jane didn't reply, "Well, don't you?" Abigail persisted. When she got no response, she seemed flabbergasted, "but why would you marry someone you don't love?"

Emma Jane had been asking herself that question since the previous day, "I don't know. I suppose I thought it would make me feel good, knowing I was doing something of which my parents were sure to disapprove." She sighed heavily, "I was so miserable in New York, but I've only made it ten times worse by doing what I've done. My family will be so ashamed."

"Maybe…maybe you'll grow to love Hank," Abigail offered.

Emma Jane thought about Hank, about the way he had spoken to her, about what he had done to her, "I don't think I ever will."

"I'm in love with someone," Abigail revealed.

"You are?" Emma Jane was glad at the switch in conversation, "Who?"

"His name's Byron. Byron Sully. He came to town a few months ago now and…well…we've been courting, in secret."

"Why in secret?"

"Well, my father wouldn't be too happy about it if he knew. You see, I was engaged to someone else, someone my father really liked. His name was Martin and he was going to go work with Pa in the store. But…then I met Sully and…everything changed."

"Does your father know that you broke off your engagement because of Sully?"

"No," she replied honestly, "he thinks I just changed my mind. I think he's hoping I'll change it back, but I won't." She grinned at her new friend, "He's just so wonderful."

Emma Jane smiled. At least someone was happy. She checked her watch, just to see if there was any chance that time had flown past since her arrival.

"What time is it?" Abigail asked anxiously.

"Three o'clock." Emma Jane consulted the slender silver watch her parents had given her as a sixteenth birthday present.

"Oh, I have to go," Abigail stood up quickly, "I'm supposed to be meeting Sully."

Emma Jane stood up too, sorry that her new friend was running off so quickly, "Did you mean what you said? About helping me make the dresses?"

"Of course," she replied, "and I've also got some old ones that you can have. They're too small for me now but they should fit you. Why don't you come over to the store after dinner and I'll give you them?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," Emma Jane replied, "perhaps you could come to the saloon tomorrow and help me sew."

Abigail's face took on an expression of shock, "I couldn't possibly!"

"But…"

"I can't come to the saloon! My parents would have a fit! Respectable women don't go in there, you know." Abigail stopped short, realising what she had just implied, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to suggest that you…"

"I understand," Emma Jane replied, knowing that she would be forever tarnished because of where she was now forced to live. "I can bring the material over to the store tomorrow and we could do it there."

"That's fine," Abigail said, "I really must go, sorry. I'll see you tonight!" She called over her shoulder as she sprinted across the meadow, her dark ponytail bobbing along behind her.

Emma Jane started to follow her slowly back across the field to the town, clutching her package. It was so beautiful and peaceful in the meadow that she really didn't want to return to the saloon. Once inside she would be swallowed up by its depravity. As she reached the door, she could hear the sound of laughter from inside and taking a deep breath, she pushed it open and went in. The girls were plying their trade to perfection and Hank was tending bar. Emma Jane paused for a moment in the doorway as if shaking herself to see if it wasn't all just some horrible dream.

"Where've you been?" Hank asked from behind the bar.

"I was just talking to someone," Emma Jane replied.

"Who?"

"Abigail Bray."

A smile spread across Hank's face, "Abigail's a sweet little thing." Something about the way he said it made Emma Jane shiver. "You git the stuff to make the dresses?"

Emma Jane nodded, "Abigail's going to show me how to do it tomorrow." She started to make her way through the room towards the stairs.

"Where d'you think yer going?" Hank called after her.

She turned to face him, "Up to the room."

He shook his head, "Can't you see we're busy? Git yerself behind this here bar."

Emma Jane felt her jaw drop. Not only did he expect her to live here, he expected her to work too? "I can't," she heard herself say.

The room went silent, everyone listening in. Even the girls were watching her, some sympathetic, others secretly pleased.

"What did you say?" Hank asked, cupping his ear in pretence, "Did you say you can't?" Laughter came from all quarters of the room.

Emma Jane glanced around nervously. She didn't like the way they looked at her, but her respectability, the small shred she had left, refused to bend completely, "Yes, I did," she replied, "I'm not going to work behind the bar."

"So, it's not 'can't' anymore, it's 'won't'" Hank said bluntly. A faint undercurrent of murmurs came from the nearest table.

"That's right," Emma Jane held her head high, "I won't." With that, she turned on her heel and made to hurry up the stairs. Before she could take a step however, Hank was beside her, pulling her arm and yanking her into a corner.

"I don't know whit you got away with in the big city," he said, "but I've already told you that yer my wife, and if I tell you to do somethin' you do it."

Emma Jane glared at him defiantly, "I'm not one of your working girls. You can't force me."

"I'm your husband and I can make you do whit I like," he replied, his eyes glittering dangerously, "Now, git yerself behind that bar and git a smile on yer face, or you'll feel the back of my hand."

Emma Jane wanted to say something else, wanted to stand up to him, show everyone that she wasn't some quiet little mouse from the city, but she was afraid of her husband, afraid of what he could do to her. So, she placed the package in the corner, wiped her hands on her dress and positioned herself behind the bar.

"Whiskey," the nearest man growled at her.

Assuming it would not be the smartest move to remind him to say please, she picked a glass up from the shelf and placed it on the bar. Then, knowing everyone in the room was watching her, she lifted the bottle of whiskey and poured some into the glass. Her hand was shaking, but she refused to stop until the glass was full. She pushed it towards the customer, who threw some money on the bar and then ambled back to his table. Emma Jane let her breath out slowly. It hadn't been that difficult, nor that unpleasant. If only her parents could have seen her. Slowly, conversation around the room resumed and she continued to serve, until eventually, nobody even seemed to care.

From the corner of the room, Hank watched the scene unfolding and smiled. At the end of the day, his new wife was quite a good sport. He was more and more convinced he had made a wise choice.

At seven o'clock, having had no break or food, Emma Jane asked Hank if she could be excused to go across to the store to pick up the dresses Abigail had promised she could have. Having had great amusement for the previous four hours, Hank agreed to give her the time off, on the understanding that she was back in time for the evening rush. Emma Jane agreed and then ran out of the saloon as quickly as she could, taking in huge gulps of air that weren't filled with the stench of cigar smoke or alcohol.

She hurried across the street to the store where Loren was just finishing serving his last customer.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Abigail said I should come over this evening," Emma Jane explained, "She said I could have some of her old dresses, until she's taught me how to make my own."

"Oh…" Loren's face crinkled into the indulgent smile of a parent, "That's my Abigail, so sweet and giving. Quite the lady. I know she'll make Martin a good wife." Emma Jane kept her mouth closed, remembering everything Abigail had told her that afternoon. "Go on up." He waved her in the direction of the stairs at the back of the store.

Emma Jane took them and met Abigail at the top.

"Hello," the latter said, "I was beginning to think you had changed your mind."

"Sorry," Emma Jane replied, "I was held up. The saloon was busy."

Abigail raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. She could hardly believe the things that Hank Lawson was forcing his poor wife to do. She led the way to her room and Emma Jane looked around it with envy. It was small, but it was beautifully neat and tidy, with dolls on the wooden shelves and a small dressing table with a mirror. It was a far cry both from her New York luxury and her Colorado Springs sparseness.

"Your room is beautiful," she admired.

"Thank you," Abigail replied, opening the wooden closet at the other side of it, "Here, these are the ones I was talking about." She lifted out three dresses, one yellow, another pale green and a pink one. Emma Jane fingered them gently. "Do you like them?"

"They're beautiful," she replied honestly, "Are you sure I can have them? I wouldn't want to take them from you."

"Don't be silly," Abigail waved her hand, "like I said, they're too small for me now. I have a few old aprons as well, if you could use them."

"Aprons?"

"Well…" Abigail looked at Emma Jane's dress, splashed with what looked and smelled suspiciously like alcohol, "you might need them, for working in the saloon."

"Oh…yes, of course," Emma Jane said, hoping to make light of the situation, "It does get quite messy in there." Abigail handed her the aprons, "I really appreciate this."

"It's nothing. And you'll come over tomorrow morning for my sewing lesson?" she teased.

"Of course," Emma Jane laughed, "Provided Hank doesn't find something for me to do. How was your meeting with Sully?"

Abigail's face became dreamy, "It was so lovely. I love spending time with him, Emma Jane, I really do. He's so different to Martin, in a good way. I just can't think of anyone else I'd rather marry."

"Your father still thinks you're going to marry Martin," Emma Jane said, relaying what Loren had said on her arrival, "Shouldn't you tell him about Sully?"

"I can't," Abigail said, "not yet. And neither must you," she added hurriedly, "not anyone. Not even Hank."

"I promise," Emma Jane said, knowing full well it was hardly the kind of relationship where she would share intimate secrets with her husband, "Your secrets will always be safe with me."

Abigail smiled, "I think we're going to be really good friends."

Emma Jane grinned in return, "Me too."

It was after eight-thirty by the time she arrived back at the saloon. Before Hank could have a chance to chastise her, however, Emma Jane bolted through the bar and up the stairs to her room where she could put Abigail's dresses away safely. Upon opening the closet in the bedroom, she came face to face with all of Hank's clothes.

"Have to do something about this," she muttered to herself. If she was going to live here then she would have to have some closet space. For the moment, however, she pushed his things as far as possible to one side and hung up the dresses. When she closed the doors, she turned and surveyed the room, thinking that something would have to be done about it too.

When she opened the bedroom door, she came face to face with Carolyn, the self-styled 'head whore' who had done nothing but glare at Emma Jane since her arrival. She considered herself the beauty of the saloon, but as far as Emma Jane could see, she looked old and tired, despite the fact she couldn't have been much older than twenty-five.

"Carolyn," Emma Jane greeted her carefully, "What can I do for you?"

"What can I do for you?" Carolyn mocked in a sing-song voice, "You really do think you're a cut above all of us, don't you?"

"No, I don't," Emma Jane lied.

"Come in here with your fancy ways and your, 'I won't work behind the bar,'" Carolyn glared at her, "You may be Hank's wife, but you're nothing as far as I'm concerned."

Emma Jane couldn't help notice the formal way Carolyn spoke, rather like herself. She had clearly been educated to some level, and Emma Jane wondered what could have happened to reduce her to have to work for Hank. "If you have a problem with me, Carolyn, just tell me. I haven't done anything to you."

Carolyn laughed mirthlessly, "You and your kind. You make me sick. Just remember that I'm in charge here. Hank looks to _me. _He looks after _me._ Don't you forget I was here first." With that, she hurried off along the corridor, leaving Emma Jane to ponder why on earth this woman could be so angry at her when she barely even knew her?

Emma Jane made her way slowly back downstairs and behind the bar. Hank didn't say anything about her being later than expected, instead, he merely let her get on with it. In a way, this unnerved her even more. Across the room, she could see Carolyn smiling with an older man, who was clearly enjoying her attentions.

"Want to try it?" Hank's voice sounded in her ear causing her to jump.

"What? No, no I don't," she felt her face redden and she focused her attention on wiping spilled whiskey from the bar top.

He slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him, "You can just be my little baby then."

Emma Jane swallowed hard, knowing it was useless to fight and unwise to be wilful. Instead, she turned in his embrace and looked up at him, "You're right," she replied, "I'm all yours." With that, she kissed a surprised Hank lightly on the lips and then disentangled herself from his arms to serve a customer. As he walked behind her, he touched her lightly on her bottom causing her to spill the whiskey she was pouring. It seemed as though gritting her teeth and getting on with it would be the only way to survive.

That night, it wasn't quite as bad as she had envisaged. As the time for sleep had drawn nearer and nearer, Emma Jane had psyched herself up for what she was certain was about to come. She had told herself that if this were to be her life, she would have to just get on with it, in more ways than one, and it gave her a little naïve pleasure knowing that Lydia still had it all to come. She could just imagine her prim and proper sister's face the first night Arthur would take her to bed.

She had already formulated a plan to tidy out the closet in the room to give herself some space, and to give the room itself a good clean. If she got the chance, she wouldn't mind doing the same with the saloon itself, the cursory sweep the floor received at the end of the day doing nothing to remove the sticky remains of spilled whiskey. Having never scrubbed a floor in her life, it seemed a daunting task, but she had seen the housekeeper in New York do it often enough. How hard could it really be?

Wifely duties was another area where she was determined to roll up her sleeves, metaphorically of course, and get on with it. It would do her no good in the long run to act like it was a chore and might put an end to the sniggering of the saloon girls, who had all been taking bets as to how many times since their wedding the previous day Hank had taken his wife. She had overheard one girl say that it clearly hadn't been enough since she still walked too stiffly.

As she lay in bed, wearing nothing but her slip, she listened for Hank's footfalls on the stairs, her heart beating wildly in her chest. When the bedroom door finally opened and he came in, she smiled at him from under the covers.

"See yer waitin' for me," he noticed, closing the door purposefully behind him, "Guess you know what's comin'."

He made it sound so crude, yet Emma Jane forced a smile onto her face. She watched, just as wordlessly as the previous night, as he got undressed and slipped into the bed beside her. Her heart thumped so strongly and loudly, she was worried it might burst right out of her chest as Hank manoeuvred himself on top of her. This time, when he kissed her, she kissed him back, blindly not knowing how, but trying to give him the impression she wasn't afraid. When he ran his hands down her body, she moved it against him, allowing her own hands to explore his, although feeling herself tremble as she did so in fear and anxiety.

Perhaps as a result of her efforts, Hank was much gentler with her and as they moved together, Emma Jane found herself feeling a slight tinge of pleasure. As she held him to her and he kissed her, she couldn't help almost enjoying the sensations that their union was bringing. She felt her body shudder uncontrollably as she moved towards her climax and at the crucial moment, she heard herself cry out his name, as if from far away.

Hank looked down at her in surprise as he too reached his orgasm, studying the look on her face. It was different from how she had looked the previous night. There were no tears, and her face was not creased with fear. Instead, she merely looked back at him, her breath coming in short gasps. He rolled onto his back, taking her with him and he gently stroked her hair as she lay against his chest. If she had been faking, she had been damn good.

Emma Jane was listening to Hank's heartbeat, her finger absent-mindedly twirling a lock of his blond hair. A sense of calm had come over her, a feeling far more welcome than the one of fear and pain she had experienced on their wedding night. Was it possible to experience such a transformation in only one day? Did it make her no better than the women who sold their bodies for the pleasure of men? Maybe deep down, she was a frustrated whore, trying desperately to escape. The thought of this made her want to laugh, the first thing that had since she had arrived that morning.

"Whatcha thinkin'?" Hank asked her, breaking into her reverie.

"Nothing," she replied.

"Didn't hurt you this time." It was a statement, not a question.

"No," she replied honestly.

"Told you you'd git used to it," he replied in a self-satisfied tone.

The following morning, Emma Jane was up bright and early, leaving Hank snoring softly in the bed bedside her. She washed and dressed quickly in the yellow dress Abigail had given her and, putting one of the aprons over it, made her way downstairs to take her first look at the kitchen. It too would need a through clean and a small part of her relished the task. First of all, however, she was going to have to learn how to cook breakfast, not just for herself and Hank, but for the girls too. Jessica, one of the younger, quieter girls, who couldn't have been more than fourteen, had told her the previous evening that they all took it in turns to make the meals, but Carolyn had butted in and declared that seeing as little Miss Posh from New York was now Mrs Lawson, she would be expected to do it. At the time, Emma Jane had bit her lip as tears had sprung into her eyes, causing Carolyn to laugh uproariously and then rush off to tell the others that Emma Jane was a crybaby and, what's more, couldn't cook. Now, however, she was determined to make a damn good go.

It didn't go to plan, however. She had scouted the cupboards looking for something to make and, finding little, decided on bread and cheese. It wasn't exactly a gourmet meal, and she wasn't even sure if the cheese would be ok, but she decided it was the only thing she couldn't possibly screw up.

The food wasn't a problem, but she couldn't for the life of her work out how to light the fire to make tea. When Hank came down, he found her on her hands and knees in front of the stove.

"Whatcha doin'?" he asked, lighting a cigarette in amusement.

"Trying to light this damn thing!" Emma Jane replied, looking up from her task, "but I'm not having much luck."

Hank got down beside her and lit in in one go. He grinned over at her, "It takes a bit of gettin' used to, like most things," he raised his eyebrows.

Emma Jane ignored his innuendo and got to her feet, "I'm sorry, but all I could find was bread and cheese," she gestured to the food on the table, "I'll go to Loren's this morning and try and get some things. Do you think the girls will mind?"

Hank laughed, "They don't care whit they eat s'long as it's edible." He sniffed, "It is edible, right?"

"Of course it is," Emma Jane replied indignantly.

"Well, well, well," Carolyn appeared in the kitchen, wrapping her shawl around her, "Little miss perfect is cooking breakfast. Hope we don't all die from eating it."

Emma Jane took a deep breath and tried to ignore her. Instead she busied herself around the kitchen, setting out plates and mugs for the tea that was hopefully going to be brewing soon. When she turned back around, Carolyn was cosying up to Hank, her body pressed against his, her smiling face upturned to his. Emma Jane felt a stab of anger go through her. Who did this woman really think she was, making eyes at _her _husband? Her anger was momentarily dissipated however, by the entrance of the other four girls. The next hour was taken up with eating breakfast and Emma Jane washing up the dishes and putting them away. When she next went to look for her husband to ask him for money, she found him and Carolyn, once more, whispering conspiratorially.

"Hank," she interrupted them loudly, causing them both to look up, "Can I have some money please?" She ignored Carolyn's supercilious look as Hank dug around in his pocket and gave her some, "Thank you." With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the saloon into the hot morning sunshine. Shielding her eyes from the glare, she hurried over to the store, where Loren was just opening up.

"Good morning, Mr Bray," she greeted him cheerfully.

"Morning Emma Jane," he replied. He was beginning to like her, "You're up and about early this morning."

"Well, there's practically nothing edible in the saloon," she admitted, "So I'm here to shop." She looked around, forcing her fake confidence to belie the fact she had no idea what to buy."

Loren left her to it, watching as she meandered slowly around the store picking things up and then pausing, as if not sure whether to get them or not. Eventually, she returned to the counter and placed her purchases down.

"I think that's everything," she replied smiling at him and handing over the money, "Is Abigail here?"

"No, she went out for an early walk," Loren replied, "She likes doing that sorta thing in the good weather. She should be back soon though."

"She promised to teach me to sew," Emma Jane reminded him, "I'll come back later." With that, she lifted the basket and once more stepped out into the street. As she did so, an older woman came out of the boarding house and upon spying Emma Jane, waved her arms in greeting.

"Hello," Emma Jane said, as the woman hurried over towards her.

"You must be Mrs Lawson," the woman said.

"Emma Jane, please."

"Nice to meet you Emma Jane," the woman shook her hand, "I'm Charlotte Cooper. I run the boarding house."

"It's nice to meet you too," Emma Jane replied, pleased at how many nice people there were in the town to balance against the horrible ones like Carolyn.

"You're from New York?" Charlotte inquired. Emma Jane nodded, "You must come over for supper one evening and tell me all about it. And, meet my children, of course."

"You have children?" Emma Jane said.

"Two," Charlotte replied beaming broadly, "Matthew is seven and Colleen just turned one."

"You look after them by yourself?" Emma Jane asked, not wanting to ask outright if Charlotte was married.

"Their Pa travels a lot," she replied, "but I manage. Promise you'll come?"

"I promise," Emma Jane replied, watching as Charlotte hurried back over to the boarding house. She made her way back over and into the saloon which was still closed for business. Jessica was behind the bar, cleaning glasses, but the others were nowhere to be seen. Emma Jane headed into the kitchen and put the provisions she had bought into the cupboards, reminding herself again that she had to clean the place. Then, she made her way upstairs to her room to get one of her aprons and upon opening the door, found Carolyn rummaging around in the closet. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

Carolyn turned to face her, a wicked smile on her face. As Emma Jane drew nearer, she saw to her horror that Carolyn had shredded the pink dress Abigail had given her. "Let's see what you're going to do now," Carolyn said malevolently.

The inner tomboy in Emma Jane, the part of her that had led her mother to despair as she rolled around the ground with her brother, surfaced violently, and she flew at Carolyn, knocking her backwards onto the floor, and wrenching the knife from her hand. "How could you!" she yelled angrily.

"Get off me!" Carolyn yelled back, pushing Emma Jane backwards, but the younger girl was stronger and she launched herself once more on top of the vandal, pulling her hair and trying to scratch her face.

The next thing Emma Jane knew, hands were around her waist and pulling her away from Carolyn and she spun around to see Hank gripping onto her tightly.

"The hell's goin' on in here?" he asked, not letting go of his wife.

"She…ruined…the dress!" Emma Jane's anger came forth in short bursts, exhausted as she was from the fight. "Look what she did!"

Hank looked at the dress which lay on the floor, a tattered mess. He looked over at Carolyn, "She deserved it!"

"You…you evil…" Emma Jane made to fly at her again, but Hank held her back, "You…you…" a thought suddenly popped into her head like an epiphany, "You're fired!"

Carolyn's mouth dropped open, "You can't fire me!" She shot back, "You don't have the right!"

"Oh yes I do!" Emma Jane wriggled out of her husband's hold, "I'm mistress of this…this…place," she swung her arm around, "and I say you're fired! I want you out, now!"

Carolyn looked at Hank, "She can't fire me!"

Hank looked from Carolyn to Emma Jane and back again. "You heard what the lady said. Git yer stuff and git out."

"But…but you can't!" Carolyn yelled, "You can't do this to me!"

Hank stepped forward and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her out of the room and along the corridor to her own room, Carolyn protesting loudly. He threw her onto the floor, "Git yer things together."

"Where am I going to go?" Carolyn demanded.

"Don't know, don't care," Hank replied, "You got five minutes." He slammed the bedroom door on Carolyn's angry sobs and moved back into the bedroom where Emma Jane was standing holding the ruined dress. "You ok?"

"Fine," she replied, "but the dress isn't." She threw it on the bed and sighed heavily.

"You can git yerself another one."

"Sure, once Abigail actually teaches me to sew. It was such a pretty dress too." Emma Jane turned to look at him, "Thank you for backing me up."

He shrugged, "Yer my wife."

Those simple words resonated within Emma Jane and she smiled at him, "Yes, yes I am."

The door to Carolyn's room flew open and she appeared, dragging a bag behind her. Without so much as a look, she ran down the stairs and into the bar. Emma Jane hurried to the window and watched as she appeared on the street. She gestured to a man who held up his hand to the driver of the morning stage which was about to depart. As he took her bag from her, Carolyn looked back up at the saloon and saw Emma Jane framed in the window, "You'll be sorry!" she yelled at her, before climbing inside.

Emma Jane watched as the stage pulled away from Loren's store, craning her neck until she could see it no longer, knowing that it was speeding out of town, taking her nemesis with it. With that, she leaned her head against the window and sighed in relief. Maybe life in Colorado Springs wouldn't be so bad after all.

TBC Please R and R, it keeps me going!


	4. Chapter Four

I don't own any unoriginal characters.

I don't think that my scene breaks are being recognised by the program, so it all seems to run together. Hope you can all see where there should be spaces!

**Three months later **

It really was the most unpleasant of journeys. The train had been fine, a smooth ride from New York to Denver, but the stagecoach was terribly uncomfortable. It lurched from side to side as the wheels bounced across the rough terrain and Mrs Brown kept having to put her hand up to her head to make sure her hat was still in place. It really was frightful that they were having to make this journey at all, and she had told her husband this in no uncertain terms.

"It's ridiculous Frederick!" she had said when he had suggested it, "Us? Go all the way to whatever shoddy backwater she's living in? That's what the police are for!"

"My dear," Mr Brown had replied, "It will be more successful if we go. We can persuade Emma Jane to come home with us, something she's far more likely to do if we're there than if we sent some policeman." Frankly, he'd had enough of the seeming incompetence of the police force, giving that they hadn't even been able to apprehend his daughter when she alighted from the train. What's more, he had been reliably informed that she _hadn't _been married until she had arrived in Denver, however now she most certainly was.

"I can't believe she married some trash that she met on the train," Mrs Brown huffed again, "I mean, does she not think of how this reflects on us? To have a daughter run off and marry the first man she meets? Not even an enlopement, but a rash decision based on whoever would pay for her ticket!" She rearranged herself angrily, "The look Meredith Hillington gave me at the opera last week…" Amanda Brown had never been out of favour in New York and she wasn't liking it one bit.

Mr Brown looked over at his wife, "There's no point upsetting yourself my dear. Once we speak with Emma Jane, she'll come to understand the error of her ways. She was in a temper when she left and was probably still in said temper when she agreed to marry this…Lawson character. I'll place any money you like that she is regretting her decision wholeheartedly and when we arrive in town, she'll be so delighted to see us that _she _will beg _us _to take her home again."

Three months earlier, her father would have been right, but as the long summer days began to fade and the distinct feel of autumn entered the air, Emma Jane had no intention of going anywhere. She had grown to love Colorado Springs in a way she would never have imagined when she stepped off the stage that day. Since Carolyn had left town, the atmosphere in the saloon had improved dramatically. The girls who had been friendly became even more so, and the ones who had treated her badly seemed to change now that their oppressor had gone. She would never like what went on there, but she had certainly come to accept it.

Working behind the bar held no anxiety for her now. She was treated the same as everyone else, not quite as well as she had been when living in New York, but nowhere near as badly as the working girls. She was seen by the residents of town as a young girl who had certainly not made a wise choice in coming to live in a saloon, but who was kind, friendly and capable of making folks overlook her situation. Emma Jane and Abigail had become firm friends and it was the former who first heard the news that Sully had proposed and they were secretly planning a wedding in Denver at the turn of the year.

"It's been inspired by you," Abigail had giggled as they discussed it in hushed whispers one afternoon, "It's so romantic."

Emma Jane hadn't wanted to burst her bubble by telling her that what had happened to her was nowhere near romantic, so she had laughed along, promised faithfully to tell no-one and helped them decide on their plans. Sully was a lovely man, she had to admit. Quiet, thoughtful and clearly captivated by Abigail, Emma Jane always smiled whenever she saw the love in his eyes. She often wished Hank would look at her in that way.

Her relationship with Hank had improved over the last few months, perhaps due to the fact that the saloon had never looked so good since Emma Jane had begun her mass cleaning programme. She actually found scrubbing the floors therapeutic, imagining her sister's face with every harsh movement of the brush. It was only a few weeks until Lydia was due to marry Arthur, and Emma Jane had sent telegrams home, informing her parents of where she was, that she was ok, and wishing Lydia every happiness. None of them had been answered which had momentarily caused her a twinge of regret, a feeling she had become all too good at banishing.

This particular morning, she was on her hands and knees in the kitchen, scrubbing the floor, hoping that with every jerky movement, she was losing some weight. She paused in her exertions, to push a stray wisp of hair away from her red face just as Hank came in.

"Gonna be able to see yer face in that there floor," he greeted her.

"Just don't come in trailing mud on those boots," she warned him, "I'm not doing this for the fun of it, you know."

He grinned and crouched down next to her, "I can think of more fun things to do to git you all hot an' bothered." He kissed her ear affectionately.

"Is that all you ever think about?" she chastised him.

"Reckon so," he replied wickedly, getting back on his feet and pulling her up from the floor, despite her protestations. He pushed her back against the table and kissed her hungrily, his hands moving down her back to cup her buttocks and pull her pelvis in towards his.

"Hank," she protested, twisting out of his grip, "for goodness sake!" She turned to face him, "Haven't you got things to do? The whiskey needs collecting from the telegraph office. It's been sitting there since this morning. It's lucky no-one stole it." She tried to glare at him, but a slight smile played around her lips.

"Fine," he replied, admitting defeat, "But yer the one missin' out." He leant forward and kissed her hard on the lips before sauntering out of the kitchen.

Emma Jane watched him go, a multitude of feelings cascading inside her. No longer the shy little virgin bride, she found herself enjoying their lovemaking more and more as the weeks and months went by. She would find herself excited and willing, carried away with the feelings of pleasure he was capable of creating within her. Then she would come crashing down afterwards, shame colouring her face. Shame that she had enjoyed the sins of the flesh so much, even if it was with a man who was legally her husband.

Outside of the bedroom, she wasn't sure how she felt about Hank. She had grown to like him a lot more over the past three months, but as far as love was concerned, she was unsure. Did she love him? How would she know if she did? She had fought with Abigail about him once, when her friend had made a throwaway remark about Hank. Emma Jane had leapt to his defence and Abigail had apologised immediately, horrified that she had angered her friend so. Thinking back on that incident, Emma Jane wondered if she had really been standing up for Hank or for herself. Similarly, she had no inclination as to whether or not her loved her. He had never said it, and at first, she had thought that was just the way of things. Her father had never said it to her mother, at least not within her earshot. But then, Sully told Abigail he loved her all the time. Emma Jane didn't know what to think.

She spent the remainder of the morning cleaning the kitchen until she was finally satisfied with it, and then headed out into the bar where the first thirsty customers were arriving. She moved behind the bar without even thinking and starting serving, engaging the men in friendly chitchat, inquiring as to their wives and families. They liked her and they all knew she would never gossip as to which happily married man was partaking of the in-house entertainment.

"Mornin' Emma Jane."

"Good morning, Jake," she replied, as he came up to the bar, already staggering slightly. She was wary of Jake, had been ever since her arrival, but he was Hank's friend so she was as friendly as possible. "What can I get you?"

"Whiskey. Please," he added for her benefit. He watched as she poured it, "So, how you liking our town now?"

"Fine thank you," she replied, "I'm growing quite fond of it."

He downed the drink in one and placed the glass back on the bar for her to pour another, "Town seems to be growing quite fond of you too. Don't suppose you're planning on branching out in here?"

"In what sense?" she asked naively.

"In the entertaining sense," he replied, grinning at her.

"Sorry Jake, that's not my line of work." She held out her hand for the money which he placed in it, his hand closing around hers.

"You have nice hands," he commented, "getting a little rough though." Emma Jane snatched her hand back, "Sorry," he said in a tone which indicated he was anything but, "There's no need to be unfriendly."

"I'm not being unfriendly, Jake."

"Hey Hank!" Jake called to his friend, "You oughta teach your wife some manners."

Hank came up behind Emma Jane, "Problem?"

"No," she replied.

"Just paying her a compliment," Jake said, "She oughta learn to take 'em better."

"Have another whiskey, Jake," Hank said, pouring him another glass, "On the house."

Jake grinned and held up the glass before downing it, "Now that's what I call hospitality." He lurched off to one of the tables where a few men were playing poker.

Emma Jane turned to face her husband, "I'm sorry, but he said…"

"It's ok," Hank cut her off, "You just gotta know how to handle Jake, that's all." He touched her chin briefly, "He give you any more trouble, you come git me."

She smiled gratefully and turned back to serve the next customer, hoping against all hope that her run in with Jake would be the most troublesome thing to happen today.

"Oh my Lord!" Mrs Brown declared as the stagecoach rolled into Colorado Springs, "Frederick, look at this place! It's like…like…" she couldn't find words to describe it. The dusty streets, the ramshackle buildings…it was her worse nightmare. "I can't believe that our daughter is living in a place like this!"

The stage came to an abrupt halt and the driver leapt down to open the door. Mr Brown climbed out first and then reached in to help his wife. Once on her feet, she was even more vocal regarding what she thought.

"This is like something out of a nightmare!" she wailed, "I've never seen anything so…"

"Amanda!" Mr Brown said, "Could you please keep your voice down. I'd rather get back to New York _without _being attacked by an angry mob." He looked around for someone to help him and saw Loren sweeping the steps of his store, "Hello there? I say, excuse me?" Loren looked up, "Perhaps you can help us."

Loren looked at the travellers, a very wealthy looking couple, who looked increasingly out of place in the town. "Surely, if I can."

"My name is Frederick Brown, this is my wife, Amanda," he motioned to the woman who Loren noticed looked almost disgusted, "We're looking for our daughter. We heard that she was living here. Emma Jane Brown?"

So these were Emma Jane's parents. Loren smiled, "You mean Mrs Lawson? Yeah, she lives here."

"Might you be able to direct us to where we could find her?"

"She lives over in the saloon," Loren pointed.

Mrs Brown's face took on an expression of pure horror, "The…the saloon?" she said, "Surely not? Our daughter is living in a saloon?"

Loren nodded, "Yes Ma'am, with her husband."

"Oh my," Mrs Brown started fanning herself, "Frederick…"

Mr Brown tried to ignore his wife's hysterics, "Thank you sir. Thank you very much." He turned away and then turned back again, "One more thing. Is there a hotel near here where we can stay?"

Loren tried and failed to hide his mirth, "Hotel? Here? No, I'm afraid not. There is the boarding house though. Mrs Cooper would be glad to put you up for however long you're planning to stay."

"Thank you," Mr Brown replied hurriedly, before his wife could declare Mrs Cooper's establishment unfit. He propelled his wife out of Loren's earshot, "My dear, I think the sooner we find Emma Jane and get out of here, the better." She nodded, "I'm going to go over to the saloon and find her."

"But, what will I do? I want to see her. I want to give her a piece of my mind!" Mrs Brown's eyes glittered with anger.

"Why don't you go over to the boarding house and get us a room for the night," he suggested to her, "I'm sure you can manage that dear," he added before she could refuse.

"Yes Frederick, of course. Driver!" She clicked her fingers at the unsuspecting stagecoach driver and gestured over to the boarding house.

Mr Brown meanwhile, made his way over to the saloon, running over in his head how he was to approach his daughter. The softly softly approach would be likely to yield the most results, at least in the beginning. As he reached the door, he could hear the sound of laughter and pushing it open, he ventured inside. At first, he couldn't see anything through the thick cigar smoke, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he could pick out the patrons sitting at the tables and the…girls…wandering around the room in search of business. Then, to his horror, he saw Emma Jane wiping down the bar. He walked slowly over to her, but she didn't look up.

"What will it be?" she asked.

"You on the stagecoach with us back to New York."

Emma Jane looked up quickly and came face to face with her father, "Father, I…" she was lost for words, "What are you doing here?"

"Your mother and I came to get you and bring you home," he replied, "We've missed you darling."

"Mother is…is here?" she questioned, her eyes wide.

"Yes, she's over at the boarding house securing us a room for the night. Hopefully one night is all it will take," he said, regarding her steadily, "Emma Jane…" he shook his head, "what _were _you thinking?"

She hung her head, "I'm sorry, father. I didn't plan any of it. It just happened." She looked up, "Are you and Mother very angry?"

"Well we were hardly jumping for joy when we heard the news," he replied, "but it's easily rectified."

"It is?"

"Well, people will talk, you know what the city is like. But it'll be old news soon. No-one will remember and you can start again."

Emma Jane frowned, "I don't understand."

"You don't think your Mother and I came all the way here to congratulate you, do you? We came to take you home."

"I am home."

Mr Brown sighed, "Emma Jane, whatever fanciful notion you may have dreamed up for yourself, this is not how you were brought up. You're living in a liquor house for a start. Respectable women, like yourself, don't do this sort of thing. Your Mother is quite put out by it all."

Emma Jane opened her mouth to reply when all of a sudden, a fight broke out between Jake and one of the men he was drinking with. Chairs were overturned and the two began trading blows. Mr Brown ducked to one side, while Emma Jane ran towards the kitchen, "Hank!"

Within seconds, Hank appeared, grabbed both men by the collars and threw them out the door into the street, "Take it outside!" he yelled after them, "And stay out!" With that he came back in and caught sight of the well dressed gentleman talking to his wife, "Well now, looks like we're actually starting to get a decent class of customer.

"Father, this is Hank Lawson, my husband," Emma Jane said timidly.

Mr Brown looked at Hank in shock. He had envisioned many things, but not this tall rangy stranger with the long blond hair. Amanda would faint when she saw him.

"Pleased to meet you," Hank held out his hand which Mr Brown shook stupidly, "Welcome to town." He jumped over the bar and put his arm around his wife's waist, "Been wonderin' when the in-laws would show up."

"Uh…yes…quite," Mr Brown recovered himself, "My wife and I…we just arrived on the stagecoach."

"Father…"

"Emma Jane, I think you should go over to the boarding house and see your mother. I'd like to have a chat with Mr Lawson at some point."

"No problem," Hank spread his hands, "Whenever you like."

"Maybe later this evening," he replied, "Now please, Emma Jane."

Emma Jane looked at Hank who nodded, "Go on. Don't need you til later anyway."

She came around the bar and fell into step behind her father who was eager to get out of the saloon as quickly as possible. Once into the open she hurried to catch him, "Father, I want you to know…"

"I'm not interested in your excuses, Emma Jane," he replied, striding onwards, "I will talk to Mr Lawson and I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement."

"Arrangement? What kind of arrangement?" Her question went unanswered however, as Mrs Brown appeared in front of them.

"Emma Jane!" she declared, hurrying forwards. At first, she thought her mother was going to embrace her, but instead, she landed a stinging blow to Emma Jane's cheek, "How could you?"

"Amanda, let's take this inside please," Mr Brown said, ushering his family into the boarding house and up the stairs to the room they had rented for the night. Emma Jane glanced back down the stairs to see little Matthew watching wide-eyed. Mr Brown closed the door firmly behind her and turned to face his wife and daughter. "Well," he began, "Well I never."

"Did you see him?" Mrs Brown demanded.

"Yes I saw him," Mr Brown replied, "and let me tell you, it's worse than we thought."

"Worse?"

"He's a brute!" Mr Brown declared, "throwing men about left, right and centre, pawing Emma Jane like she was…well…"

"That's not true!" Emma Jane interrupted, "He was breaking up a fight! If he didn't, the whole saloon could have been destroyed."

"Yes, well, that would hardly be a disaster, would it?"

"As for 'pawing me,'" she continued, "He was just being affectionate."

"Affectionate? Affectionate?" Mr Brown rounded on her, "He was treating you no better than those…women…that work there!"

"What women?" Mrs Brown asked.

"Women of disrepute," her husband replied.

Mrs Brown threw up her hands, "This gets better and better with each passing moment!" She glared at her daughter, "Do you have any idea what you've done? To us? To your brother and sister?"

"Lydia's only put out because I got married first," Emma Jane replied, "And because, for once, the attention wasn't completely focused on her." Mrs Brown slapped her again, causing tears to spring to her eyes.

"We're a laughing stock!" she yelled, "Do you know what people are saying?"

"That I've lived up to expectation?" Emma Jane fought back, "I've always been considered wayward, ill-tempered, useless…"

"That's enough," her father said.

"But here, people like me. I've got friends. I've got a husband. I'm happy! Why don't you want me to be happy?"

"I said, that's enough!" Mr Brown thundered, "You are an ungrateful, selfish girl! We have given you everything you ever wanted and this is how you repay us? By running away? By marrying the first lout that asks for your hand?"

"He's not a lout!"

"Well, he's no Arthur Wallis, put it that way."

"I don't want an Arthur Wallis! I never have!" Emma Jane rushed for the door, "I hate you! I hate both of you!" With that, she wrenched it open and ran down the stairs and back out into the streets, tears streaming down her face, her body racked with sobs. She knew she couldn't go back to the saloon, so she turned and ran towards the meadow.

"Frederick, I can hardly believe…" Mrs Brown was lost for words, "She was always wilful, but this…"

"Don't worry, my dear," Mr Brown said, "Mr Lawson may be a lout and a brute, but he's not stupid. There's always one thing that these kind of people understand and that's money."

"I don't understand."

"He won't turn down the offer of a pretty penny to let us take Emma Jane back home with us. An annulment shouldn't be difficult to obtain under the circumstances, and then we can put this whole sorry mess behind us."

Abigail found Emma Jane lying face down on the grass in the meadow breaking her heart. She glanced around, wondering at first what to do, before hurrying over and crouching down beside her friend, "What's wrong?" she asked, putting a hand gently on Emma Jane's back.

"My…parents…"Emma Jane hiccupped, "I…hate them!"

"I see," Abigail replied evenly, "Why?"

"They…hate me," came the obvious response.

"I'm sure that's not true," Abigail laughed.

Emma Jane lifted her tearstained face, "It _is _true! You didn't hear what they said to me! They called me selfish and ungrateful and…and wilful!" She started to cry again, "I hate them so much!"

"When did they say this?"

"Just now! In the boarding house! They said I had made them laughing stocks back home!"

"Your parents are here?"

Emma Jane nodded, "They called Hank a lout!"

Abigail didn't reply, not wanting to say that quite frankly she agreed with Mr and Mrs Brown on that count. Instead, she smiled sympathetically, "I'm sorry."

"They want to take me home, but I'm not going," Emma Jane wiped her nose, "I'm not a child anymore. I'm a married woman!"

"Maybe you should tell them that. They're your parents, surely they would understand."

Emma Jane sniffed, "You haven't told _your _parents about you and Sully."

Abigail looked away, "That's different."

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is!" Abigail insisted, "Look, why don't you come over to the store for lunch. You can't go back to the saloon looking like that, and Ma and Pa won't mind."

"Ok," Emma Jane acquiesced, pulling herself up from the ground. Hopefully by now, her parents would have calmed down considerably.

"So," Hank said, sitting down opposite his father-in-law, "What did you want to talk 'bout?"

Mr Brown regarded his steadily. He knew Hank's type, loud, brash, but certainly not stupid, "I have a proposition for you Mr Lawson."

Hank blew smoke out lazily, causing Mr Brown to cough slightly, "Now what might that be?"

"You have a…thriving business," Mr Brown looked around, "anyone can see that. Your establishment is clearly very popular."

"Maybe that's cause this is the only one in town."

"Yes…quite. As I was saying, businesses need good revenue in order to survive. I'm a banker, Mr Lawson, I know what I'm talking about. If there's no money, there can be no expansion, no growth." He paused, wondering if Hank was anywhere near understanding his meaning. "I'm prepared to make you an offer."

"What kind of offer?"

"A monetary offer. A good one at that." Mr Brown pulled out his cheque book, "I was thinking somewhere in the region of five thousand dollars."

Hank was taken aback, but years of perfecting his cool exterior meant that it didn't show. "That's a lot of money," was all he said.

"Yes, yes it is."

"What's in it for you?"

Mr Brown cleared his throat, "I will give you the money on the condition that you agree to annul your marriage to my daughter and allow us to take her back home to New York. Where she belongs," he added.

"I see."

"I believe you to be a man of honour, Mr Lawson. I know you can see the sense in this decision. My daughter is not a country girl, she belongs in the city, not here. Whatever fun you may have had in marrying her surely must be wearing off by now. I'm doing you a favour really."

Hank took another drag on his cigarette, "From what I hear, you cam only git one of them annulments if you ain't…consummated the marriage. I gotta tell you, Mr Brown, me and Emma Jane done a lot of that over the last three months."

Mr Brown felt himself colour at the very implication, but he was determined not to be fazed, "Well, we can…overlook that fact, I'm sure." He made the cheque out to Hank, filled in the amount and signed it before holding it out to him, "Do we have an agreement?"

Hank looked at the cheque. It was a hell of a lot of money, more than he had ever even dreamed of having, "Maybe I should take some time to think bout it."

Mr Brown blinked, wondering for a fraction of a second if he had misjudged the situation, "You're not suggesting that you _love_ my daughter, are you?"

"Never said that," Hank replied, "Just reckon I oughta consider it a bit, that's all. Kinda got used to having her around here."

Mr Brown put the cheque back in his pocket and stood up, "My wife and I are planning to leave town first thing in the morning. Perhaps you could get back to me before then as to your decision." He touched his hat briefly and then left the saloon. He met his wife at the door of the boarding house.

"Well?" she demanded, "did he take the money?"

Mr Brown looked at her purposefully, "He will."

Come the evening, the saloon was starting to get busy. Jake had come back, his tail between his legs, apologising for his behaviour, something he always did after getting drunk.

"Emma Jane weren't offended was she?"

Hank shook his head, "Course not. She can take it." He poured his friend a whisky, took one himself and they both drank them down, "Her old man offered me money to annul the marriage and let them take her back to New York."

Jake stared, "How much money?"

"Five thousand."

"Dollars?" Jake spluttered in amazement. Hank nodded, "What did you say?"

"Told him I'd have to think about it," Hank replied, "Said he's leaving first thing tomorrow. I got til then to make up my mind."

"You're gonna take it though, right?" Jake asked, "I mean, it's five thousand dollars!"

"I don't know," Hank replied.

"You don't know?" Jake was stunned. He knew if a wealthy man like Mr Brown had offered him that, he would have grabbed it with both hands, wife or no wife. "How can you not know?" He paused, "You don't love her, do ya?"

"Course not," Hank answered, "I look stupid to you or somethin'?"

From her position just inside the doorway, Emma Jane blinked back hot tears. She had received her answer. He didn't love her, and he was going to take five thousand dollars from her parents just to emphasise the point. She had been a fool, a fool to think that he would care about her. He had married her because he thought it would be fun, because she was pathetic and helpless, not because he cared one shred for her. He made love to her for his own gain, not because he wanted her next to him. Despite not having known her own deep, true feelings, she had felt something for him. Clearly, however, he did not share the sentiment.

Holding her head high, she made a big show of pretending to have just arrived, to not have heard the exchange that had taken place. She shot Hank and Jake a dazzling smile as she hurried past them and up the stairs to her room. She threw herself on the bed and cried. She had been bought and sold, just like a horse. She felt cheap and used and angry. She would rather die than stand meekly in a corner while money exchanged hands between her father and her husband before being put onto a stagecoach and whisked back to New York to start all over again, the stigma of what she had done hanging over her head. No, she would have to get out of Colorado Springs first, before any of them knew where she was going.

She lay in bed that night, her back to Hank, her body unresponsive to his touch, planning what to do. She wouldn't be able to get out by stage without someone noticing, so it would have to be by some other method, stealing a horse, stowing away in a wagon…something that would put her in charge of her own destiny once again. She would do it first thing, before she had a chance to change her mind.

At the same time as Emma Jane lay plotting her escape, Hank lay beside her, thinking how much pleasure he was going to get out of telling Mr Brown where to stick his five thousand dollars. He liked having Emma Jane around, she was interesting and challenging, and what's more, he hadn't been entirely honest with Jake. Somewhere, deep down inside, he had feelings for her.

TBC Thanks for the reviews!


	5. Chapter Five

Again, don't think the scene breaks are working, so you'll just have to assume! Hope you're all enjoying it – thanks for reviews so far.

At dawn the next morning, Emma Jane climbed quietly out of bed, desperate not to wake Hank. She had come up with the most fantastic idea the night before and now she was determined to put it into operation. She dressed quickly, and threw a few of her personal belongings into her bag, only the things she felt she would definitely need. Afterwards, she stole one final look at the man she had married, before silently opening the bedroom door and creeping downstairs to the bar. She let herself out into the cold, morning air, shivering slightly as she did so, then, glancing around to make sure no-one was watching, she hurtled across the street around the back of Loren's store, where she knew Abigail's bedroom window was.

"Abigail!" she hissed, as loudly as she dared, "Abigail!" There was no response, so, picking up some dirt, she threw it at the window, wincing at the sound. A few moments later, Abigail's confused face appeared and she pulled up the window.

"Emma Jane! What's going on?" she demanded, "What...?"

"Ssh!" Emma Jane hushed her, "I've had the best idea. You and Sully want to elope, right?"

"Yes, but…"

"So, let's do it now!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You, me and Sully! We'll get a wagon and we'll head for Denver today, this morning, right now!" She grinned up at her, "Come on, it'll be great!"

"Have you lost your mind?" Abigail replied, "We can't…"

"I'm coming up!" Emma Jane leapt onto the wood store under the window and started to hoist herself up, despite Abigail's protestations, "Here, take this!" she threw her bag up into Abigail's face and then grabbed onto the windowsill to pull herself up. "Help me!" she called, and Abigail reached out and hauled her inside.

"Emma Jane, what is this about?"

"I need to leave town, now," she explained, pausing to catch her breath, "I can't go back to New York with my parents and I can't stay here with Hank."

"Why ever not?"

"He doesn't love me."

"You don't love him," Abigail pointed out.

Emma Jane paused, "I don't know how I feel right now. But I know that I can't stay with a man who clearly, absolutely, categorically stated he didn't love me."

"He told you this?" Abigail was aghast.

"Well…not in so many words. But I heard him telling Jake. Listen, let's do it!"

"I can't just up and leave without saying anything to my parents!"

"You were planning on doing it anyway!"

"Yes, but…" Abigail threw up her hands, "I was sort of hoping it wouldn't really ever come about."

Emma Jane sighed, "Look, you know your father will never accept Sully. You know he won't give permission for your marriage, so we might as well flee now, while we have the chance! Like I did!"

"I'm not like you," Abigail said, "you're a free spirit, you do what you want…" she trailed off, "I'm…"

"Well behaved?" Emma Jane teased, "Abigail, that's why you're so miserable! You always do what other people want! For once, do what you want! Live a little!"

Abigail took a deep breath, "Ok, ok, let's do it."

"Yes!" Emma Jane exclaimed, "Come on, if we go now…" she was cut off by the door to Abigail's bedroom swinging open to reveal Loren and Maud on the other side.

"What the hell is going on?" Loren demanded.

"Pa!" Abigail said, "We were just…I mean I…"

"Do you know what time it is?" He ran a hand through his grey hair, which was sticking up at all angles. "And you, young lady," he turned to Emma Jane, "Does your husband know where you are?"

"No, and I don't care!" she replied stubbornly.

"Well you will do, cause I'm going to get him right now!"

"No, Mr Bray…" Emma Jane protested, but it was no use. Maud marched Emma Jane downstairs to wait until Loren returned with a disgruntled looking Hank.

"There you go," Loren said, "take her away."

"The hell's goin' on?" Hank asked, looking at his wife angrily.

"I'll tell you what's going on," Loren said, "the two of them were whispering in Abigail's room, that's what! Can't you keep her in her own bed at night?"

"Emma Jane?" Hank asked her.

Worried she might start to cry, Emma Jane pushed past both of them and hurried back out into the street. She was halfway to the saloon when she felt someone grab her arm roughly and Hank swung her around to face him.

"Asked you a question."

"One I don't care to answer!" she replied, struggling, "let me go!"

"Not til you tell me exactly what's goin' on."

"I'm not going back to New York, I'm not!" she yelled at him, "I don't care if my father pays you a million dollars, I'm not going back there!"

"What makes you think yer goin' back?"

"You! You're going to take the five thousand and have the marriage annulled! You're going to send me home with them." Her lower lip started to quiver and tears sprang into her eyes, "You don't care about me at all!"

Hank took a deep breath, "Ain't sendin' you anywhere," he said, "Ain't takin yer Pa's money."

Emma Jane stopped struggling, "You're not?"

"No."

"But…but why not? It's a lot of money…"

"Fer someone like me?" he finished bitterly.

"I didn't mean that," she lowered her eyes briefly, "but if it's not the money, then what?"

"Kinda got used to havin' you around," he replied, "Figured you wouldn't want to go back anyways. Besides," he touched her cheek briefly, "you ain't all bad."

"But…"

"And yer wrong," he leaned in to whisper in her ear, "I do care bout you." With that, he moved past her back to the saloon. Emma Jane stood for a moment watching and then slowly followed him back inside. It wasn't exactly a declaration, but it was something.

"Well, Mr Lawson," Mr Brown said a few hours later, oblivious to what had taken place earlier in the day, "Have you considered my offer?"

"Sure have," Hank replied, "an' the answer's no."

Mr Brown was taken aback, "Isn't it enough?"

"No."

"So, you want more. Fine, how about six thousand?"

"Ain't never gonna be enough," Hank told him, "I like your daughter and I'm gonna keep her here with me."

Mr Brown's lips went white as he pursed them together, not used to being turned down by a…a…ruffian, "I can assure you, you are making a grave mistake."

Hank shrugged, "Guess I am." He lit a cigarette and blew out smoke, "Sorry."

"Frederick?" Mrs Brown came up behind them, "Do we have an agreement?"

"No Ma'am, you do not," Hank informed her, "Emma Jane's my wife and she's stayin' with me."

Mrs Brown's jaw dropped, "You can't do that!"

"Ring on her finger says I can."

"Frederick…"

"Leave it Amanda," Mr Brown said, "Mr Lawson has clearly made his decision. Where is my daughter?"

At that moment, Emma Jane appeared at the door of the saloon. "Mother. Father."

"You…you…" Mrs Brown was so angry she couldn't seem to find words, "You are going to regret this my girl, do you hear me?" she strode up to her daughter, "You are selfish and ungrateful and…"

"You told me all this yesterday," Emma Jane interrupted, "I don't need to hear it for a second time."

Mrs Brown slapped her hard again, causing her to cry out. Instantly, Hank was by her side, "Ain't nobody gonna hit my wife," he said, glaring at his mother-in-law.

"Your wife," Mrs Brown mocked him, "Well, Emma Jane, as long as you are _his wife _you are not _our daughter._ You are not welcome at our house, nor even in New York. Never again will you be considered part of our family. You are dead to us."

"Amanda…"

"I mean it!" Mrs Brown glared at both her husband and daughter, "Dead!" With that, she turned on her heel and strode over to where the stagecoach was waiting. Mr Brown looked at his daughter as if he wanted to say something else, then he too turned and hurried to join his wife. A few minutes later, the stage pulled away, with neither of them glancing in their daughter's direction.

Emma Jane watched them go, a feeling of sudden sadness in her heart. For all that they disagreed with and shouted at her, they were still her parents. Or at least they had been. To be cut off completely from them was more than she had anticipated.

"Oh well," Hank said, grounding out his cigarette end, "guess we won't be seeing them again."

"Guess not," Emma Jane replied quietly.

"Got you a present."

She tore her gaze away from the retreating stage and looked at her husband, "What?"

"A present," he repeated, "got it this mornin'."

"What kind of present?" she asked suspiciously.

He grinned at her, "Wait here." Then he disappeared behind the saloon, leaving her standing waiting, confused and sceptical, her mind still on what had just happened. A few moments later, he reappeared, leading a beautiful chestnut mare. "Here you go," he said.

Emma Jane stared at it stupidly, "It's a horse."

"It's yer horse," he corrected her, "bought her this mornin' from an old friend. Figured it's about time my wife had her own horse."

"I can't ride."

"Gonna teach you."

"You are?" she looked at him disbelieving, "You're going to teach me to ride."

"Course," he replied, "she's all saddled and ready to go."

Emma Jane walked over and stroked the horse's nose, "What's her name?"

"Ain't got one 'parently," he replied, "Gonna have to give her one." He grinned at her, "You like her?"

"She's beautiful," Emma Jane replied truthfully.

"Git on her then." She stared at him, "Come on, git on!" She continued to stare. "Oh, come on." He came up behind her and lifted her easily up and onto the horse's back, where she sat, looking terrified. "She ain't gonna bite," he told her.

"I…I know," Emma Jane replied, "I've just…never been on a horse before."

"S'easy," he reassured her, making sure her feet were in the stirrups, "You just hold onto the reins."

Emma Jane picked them up, "Like this?"

"Right. Gonna be a natural." Hank swung himself onto his own horse, "C'mon, we'll go for a ride, see how you git on." He urged his horse forward, but Emma Jane's kept still, "Give her a kick."

She kicked the horse a little, and she sprang forward, causing her rider to scream slightly, "I'm…not sure I like this."

"Yer fine!" he encouraged her as they walked down the street together, "She likes you."

"I'm sure she does," Emma Jane said, not quite believing it, "It feels really strange."

"Will do at first. You'll be saddle sore for a while after. We'll fix that though," he grinned lasciviously at her.

She was concentrating so much on staying on top of the horse, that Emma Jane missed his meaning. They wandered down the street and out towards the meadow where Hank told her to try a trot.

"I'm not sure that's a very good idea. I think that's enough for today."

"Quit whinin' and do it!" he said, "Just kick her a bit more, that's it." He watched as she urged the mare forward into a trot, "Just try and go in a circle," he directed her. "You gotta bounce up and down. Push yourself up from the stirrups and from yer thighs!"

Emma Jane tried to do as he told her, but she found it difficult, "Maybe it would be better if I rode side-saddle," she suggested, thinking back to the fashionable women she had seen on horseback in the city.

"Side-saddle?" he sneered at her, "That's fer them toffs. Yer a country girl now, Emma Jane, you gotta ride like a country girl."

At that moment, she forgot to keep bouncing and the rhythm of her sitting down into the saddle caused the mare to start cantering. Emma Jane screamed, which only caused the mare to go faster and before she knew what was happening, they were heading for the fence.

Hank bolted towards her, but the mare decided she didn't want to jump after all, and pulled up sharply before the fence. By the time he reached them, Emma Jane was crying.

"You cryin'?" he demanded.

"No," she replied, wiping her eyes, "I just…got a fright that's all. I don't want to ride any more today, thank you."

"Emma Jane…"

"Please, help me down!" she demanded.

Hank slid off of his own horse and came over to her. He held out his hands and lifted her from the horse back onto solid ground, "Can't keep quittin.'"

"I'm not quitting!" she retaliated, "I've just had enough for today, that's all. Can we go back to the saloon please?"

"Women," Hank muttered, following as she started to walk back across the meadow, horse in tow. He was going to make her ride if it was the last thing he did.

A week later, and things were still going no better. Despite having taken her out virtually every day, Hank was having no luck in teaching Emma Jane to ride. She was either too nervous or too scared and every time the horse moved, she almost had a heart attack. He thought he was being incredibly patient with her, but his enthusiasm was wearing thin.

"Can't keep runnin' away," he told her as she stormed back into the saloon after yet another unsuccessful attempt.

"I'm not running away!" she retaliated, relieving Jessica behind the bar, "I just don't understand why you're being so horrible about it!" Although Hank believed he was being nice, to Emma Jane, he came across as rude and horrible. He made her feel small every time she was afraid or nervous. He laughed at her whenever she fell off, and generally patronised her at every turn.

"You aint' seen me bein' horrible," he advised her.

"Hmph!" she tossed her head and turned to serve Jake, whom she was surprised was still standing, "Another whisky Jake?"

He nodded, "Hear you're learning to ride."

"Trying to," she replied.

"She ain't tryin'," Hank chipped in, "She can't do it. She's yella."

"I am not!"

He laughed, "You can't even stay on the damn thing! And every time she moves, Emma Jane screams." Laughter came from all around the room, "When she's not screamin', she's cryin.'"

"That true?" Jake asked her, grinning.

Emma Jane threw the bar cloth down on the bar top and marched around the side of the bar, shooting her husband a murderous look as she passed.

"Where do you think yer going?" he called after her, "We got customers!"

"Out!" she yelled back, before throwing open the saloon door and emerging onto the street. Turning, she headed around to the stables at the back of the saloon where Willow, her mare was contentedly munching hay. "I'll show you," she muttered to herself, picking up the saddle where it was leaning against the door, "I'll show you." She proceeded to tack Willow up, the way Hank had shown her, and then led her out of the stall. Using the mounting block, which Hank always called 'the girly step,' she climbed onto Willow's back and urged her on. Clinging on for dear life, she walked Willow down and round to the meadow. "I can do this," she told herself, "See, it's easy."

"Hey!" she turned to see Abigail coming towards them, "Look at you!"

Emma Jane grinned, "Hank thinks I'm useless. I'm going to show him!"

"Good for you," Abigail replied, leaning against the fence as Emma Jane trotted Willow in a circle. "Looks like you're getting the hang of it."

"Yes," Emma Jane replied, "Seen Sully recently?" she queried as she trotted by.

"Yes," Abigail said.

"Still hopelessly in love?"

"Yes."

"So, when's the big elopment?"

"Emma Jane!" Abigail looked around to make sure no-one had heard, "Probably after Christmas."

"Two months, that's quite a long time to wait."

"Not really. I can wait until then, we both can. I'll be eighteen then, and I can do what I like."

"I'll be seventeen in three weeks," Emma Jane informed her as she passed by again.

"Really?" Abigail latched onto this, "You should have a party!"

Emma Jane laughed, "What? In the saloon?"

"Maybe not there," Abigail replied, "out here."

"I can't see Hank agreeing to that."

"But it's your birthday!"

"I know, but…" Emma Jane was cut off suddenly as the sound of gunfire filled the air. It spooked Willow, causing her to rear up on her hind legs. Emma Jane clung onto her neck for support, but then she began tearing towards the fence. Powerless to stop her, Emma Jane held on and prayed for a soft landing, but just as last time, Willow pulled up short before she could jump. Unfortunately, unlike last time, Emma Jane couldn't stop herself and she went flying over Willow's hand, landing on her stomach on top of the fence and then hurtling downwards onto the grass, whereupon everything went black.

"Emma Jane!" Abigail screamed, running over to where her friend lay. She threw herself down on the grass next to her and rolled her over, but Emma Jane wasn't moving. "Oh…oh…" she cast around wildly, not knowing what to do. Then she got up and ran as fast as she could back across the meadow towards town. She ran up to the saloon and paused at the door, remembering everything her father had told her. But this was an emergency. Surely he wouldn't mind?" She threw open the door and stumbled inside, causing the patrons to stop talking and look at her.

"Ladies ain't allowed," Hank told her lazily from behind the bar.

"It's…it's Emma Jane," Abigail said, breathlessly, "She fell…off Willow. She's not…moving…"

Hank leapt over the bar, "Where?"

"The…the meadow."

"Jake!" he yelled to his friend, the supposed town medic, but Jake was slumped across a table clearly inebriated. Hank grabbed Abigail by the shoulders, "Go to the boarding house, get Charlotte, ok? Ok?" Abigail nodded dumbly, "Go!" He pushed her out the door ahead of him and then started to run down the street towards the meadow.

"Hank?" Rev Johnston watched him fly past and decided to follow, closely followed by Horace.

Hank first caught sight of Willow, standing calmly beside what looked suspiciously like Emma Jane. He flew across the meadow and fell to his knees beside her unconscious form, "Emma Jane?" He pushed her hair back from her eyes, "Emma Jane, can you hear me?" There was no response. He took her head in his lap, "Emma, Emma wake up. Emma…" he stroked her face, willing her to respond, "Emma, please wake up."

At that moment, Abigail appeared with Charlotte, Rev Johnston and Horace beside them.

"What happened?" Charlotte asked, crouching down beside them.

"Willow got spooked by the gunfire," Abigail said, "She made for the fence and Emma Jane fell…" She dissolved into tears, "Is she dead?"

Hank glanced sharply at Charlotte, who was busy feeling for Emma Jane's pulse, "No, no she's not dead. But we need to get her inside. Hank, can you lift her?" Hank easily picked Emma Jane up in his arms, "Bring her back to the saloon."

The small party trailed after Charlotte and Hank, Rev Johnston muttering a prayer under his breath. Hank carried Emma Jane back towards the saloon, Charlotte holding open the door for him, stunning the patrons.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" Hank demanded angrily as they swept inside and upstairs to the bedroom.

"Put her down, gently," Charlotte ordered.

Hank did as he was told, "You know anythin' bout what to do?"

Charlotte could see genuine concern in his eyes, "I've had two children Hank. I can turn my hand to anything." She smiled gently at him, "Could you wait outside?"

He was reluctant to leave her, but he did as Charlotte said, coming out and closing the door behind him. He walked slowly back downstairs, where a sense of uneasy calm had descended over the bar. Mechanically, he poured himself a whisky, draining it in one go and following it with another. The time seemed to drag, until Charlotte called for him from upstairs.

"She ok?" he asked, hurrying up the stairs to meet her.

"She's conscious now, but she's a little woozy from hitting her head," Charlotte relayed, "She should stay in bed for a while. She's had a nasty shock. As have you," she touched his arm gently.

Hank nodded, "Can I see her?"

"Of course. If she gets any worse, I'll be happy to come back."

"Thank you," he thanked her, and then pushed open the bedroom door. The room was darkened, the curtains drawn, and Charlotte had clearly undressed Emma Jane and put her into bed. She was lying in her slip underneath the covers, and she turned her head when he entered. "Hey there," he greeted her, walking over and perching on the end of the bed, "You a'right?"

"I suppose so," Emma Jane replied, "My head hurts though. In fact, I hurt all over. Damn horse."

Hank smiled, "Trust you to blame an animal."

"If she hadn't spooked at the gunfire…"

"If you hadn't taken her out without me."

"You said I was useless at riding."

"Never said that," he defended himself, "just said you cried a lot, that's all."

"Exactly," she replied, "you shouldn't make fun of me like that. It's not my fault I'm scared of horses."

Hank laughed, "Ok, it ain't yer fault. Happy?" she nodded and then winced, "Well, you better git some rest. I got customers to see to." He brushed his lips against her forehead, "Holler if you need me." With that, he was gone.

Emma Jane lay in bed for the rest of the day, fighting the headache and the pain in her limbs. She could remember nothing from the moment Willow had attacked the fence to waking up with Charlotte looming over her. She didn't know it was possible to be in so much pain, especially in her stomach. It was gripping, almost twisting her insides. Finally, she couldn't stand to lie in bed any longer and wondered if getting out of bed would help. When she pulled back the covers and stood up, she felt an unwelcome wet sensation between her thighs and when she looked down, the front of her slip was soaked in blood.

"Damn," she said softly. She had been wondering what had happened to her monthly, but she wasn't too excited about it having stained her slip. She turned back to the bed to see the damage it had caused to the sheets, when the gripping pain surged through her abdomen again, causing her to cry out and grab onto the bed for support. She had never experienced pain like this. Surely it wasn't normal for a monthly bleed? Once more, it surged through her and she fell onto the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest to try and alleviate it.

Hank found her still on the floor a few minutes later when he brought her a whisky. Putting the glass down on the dresser, he hurried forward to her, "What is it?" he asked, panicked.

"I don't know," she replied through gritted teeth, "But it hurts, it really hurts!" she cried out again as the pain continued to surge, "Hank…what's happening to me?"

"Yer gonna be ok," he reassured her, helping her to stand. She immediately slumped against him, crying.

"It hurts!" she cried, starting to sob.

"Ok, ok baby," he helped her back into bed, noticing the blood on the sheets and on her slip, "I'm gonna go git Charlotte, ok?"

"No don't leave me!" she grabbed onto him tightly, "please, please don't leave me!"

"Just for a minute," he reassured her, "I'll git someone to go git her, ok?" He broke free from his wife's hold and barrelled down the stairs into the bar, grabbing the nearest sober man and telling him to go and get Charlotte. Then he ran back upstairs and into the room where Emma Jane was kneeling on the bed, clutching her stomach. "It's ok. Charlotte's coming." He allowed her to grab onto him again, "Yer gonna be fine." Deep down, however, he didn't feel as sure. He had been around enough women to know it was never a good sign when one began to bleed as heavily. Thoughts swirled around in his head, wondering if it could be…

Shortly after, Charlotte burst through the door and ordered him to wait outside. She closed the door in his face and he was helpless to do anything except listen to Emma Jane's cries of pain and Charlotte's muffled words of comfort. He paced around and around the hallway, cursing himself for not having noticed, blaming himself for having done this to her. When the door opened, he looked up hopefully, but Charlotte's face was grim.

"She's lost the baby," she informed him. Hank closed his eyes briefly, "Did you know she was expecting?"

"No."

"Cause if you did, making her ride that horse was damn foolish!"

"I didn't know!" he shouted at her, "If I'd known, I never would have…" he trailed off, "Is she going to be all right?"

"I don't know," Charlotte replied truthfully, "She's lost a lot of blood, she's weak and she has a slight fever." She paused, "She's also young, which can only work in her favour. I'm going to stay tonight if it's all right with you." Hank nodded, swallowing hard. "Go and sit with her," Charlotte softened, "I'm sure she'd like that."

This time when he went in, Emma Jane's eyes were closed, a thin layer of sweat covering her brow. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her clammy hand in his cool one. Gently, he stroked her fingers, running his over the wedding band.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, "it's my fault. Truth is, I never really thought about it before. Us havin' kids I mean. Just seemed like something other folks did. Never guessed in a million years that you…" he broke off, "If I'd known you were carrying my baby, wouldn't have let you near that damn horse, never mind ridin' her." He paused, "Why'd you take her out by yerself? Shouldn't have gone without me. Would have been there to stop her…" he let out a shuddering breath and then reached over to wipe the sweat from her eyes.

Deep within him, the sentiment burned, the feelings that he knew he had, the ones that were causing him such pain now, not just for what had happened, but for everything.

"I love you, Emma Jane," he said, not knowing if she had heard it.

It was a full twenty-four hours before Emma Jane regained proper consciousness. She had spent the previous night and day hovering between the two. There had been a multitude of voices swirling around in her brain, ones she had identified at least as Charlotte and Hank. They had mumbled above her, but she hadn't quite been able to make out what they had said. When she woke, the window in the bedroom was open and a light evening breeze was blowing the curtains. Despite her body feeling heavy and tired, she pulled herself up into a sitting position and looked around the room.

The door opened and Hank appeared, holding what looked suspiciously like a bowl. "Hey," he greeted her, "yer awake."

She nodded, "I still feel a bit light-headed." She gestured to what he was holding, "What's that?"

"Soup."

Emma Jane raised her eyebrows, "Soup? Did you make it?"

"No," he reassured her, "Jessica did."

"That's all right then," she smiled, as he put it down beside her and then turned to look at her, "What?"

"Nothin'" he replied, perching on the end of the bed, "Just glad yer gonna be ok. Gave us all a bit of a scare."

Emma Jane's smile faded, "I think I know what was wrong with me."

Hank nodded, "Me too."

Emma Jane paused and looked at him, "I didn't know. If I had known, I wouldn't have done anything as foolish as getting on a horse…"

"It's ok," he covered her hand with his, "If I'd known, would never have bought you that damn horse. Charlotte says you'll be fine. Ain't no reason why we can't have others some time." He brushed her hair back from her face, and she held his hand against her cheek.

"Kiss me," she whispered and he bent and kissed her gently. She wound her arms around his neck pulling him down to her. Their kiss was deep and passionate, and when they finally broke apart, she looked him straight in the eye and echoed his sentiment.

"I love you too, Hank."

She was confined to bed for another few days just to ensure that everything was fine and during that time, Hank couldn't do enough for her. It seemed that since their mutual declaration of love, things had gotten so much better between her and Hank. He was more gentle, more tender with her that it was as if she were living with a new man. When she finally felt able to get out of bed, he was reluctant to let her do anything.

"Don't think you should be up and about just yet," he said as she got dressed, "Shouldn't you stay in bed a bit longer?"

"And do what?" she asked him, "I'm going crazy staring at the four walls." She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, "I feel fine."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, "Just don't want you overdoin' things, that's all."

"I won't," she promised him, "I'm just going to take things easy."

"No workin' behind the bar."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she said, "I'm just going to take a walk, is that ok?"

"Fine," he said, defeated, "Just don't try anythin' heroic like jumping fences."

Emma Jane grinned at him before making her way downstairs through the bar, and out into the street. It felt good to be outside again, even although the air was crisp and cold. It was, by now, the middle of November, and she pulled her shawl close around her body to keep warm. As she stepped out onto the street, she was distracted by a sudden commotion coming from Loren's store.

Abigail came running out, laden down with bags, Sully close behind her, Loren and Maud in hot pursuit. "You can't stop us, Pa!" she was yelling, "I love Sully and we're going to get married!"

"You're not going to do this, Abigail!" Loren yelled in protest, "Over my dead body!"

"Abigail, please!" Maud beseeched her, but Abigail was not for turning.

"No Ma! We're doing this now!" Catching sight of Emma Jane, she ran across the street, while Sully started to throw things into a wagon, Loren attempting to stop him, "Emma Jane! I'm so glad you're all right."

"What's happening?" Emma Jane asked.

"We're doing it!" Abigail replied, his eyes shining, "We're eloping today!"

"Today?" Emma Jane's jaw dropped, "But what about waiting until after Christmas?"

"We can't wait any longer," Abigail hugged her friend, "we'll be back soon. Take care!" She darted back across the street and leapt up into the wagon beside her beloved.

"Abigail Bray you get back down here right now!" Loren yelled.

"Bye Pa, bye Ma!" Abigail shouted cheerily as Sully urged the horses to move forward. She turned and waved to Emma Jane, "Bye Emma!"

Emma Jane waved back furiously, "Bye! Good luck!" She waved until the wagon was gone from sight at which point Loren and Maud turned to face her.

"This is all your fault!" the former said, pointing his finger at her. He turned and ushered Maud back into the store, casting a final murderous look back at her.

Emma Jane stood where she was in the street, staring in the distance, "Good luck Abigail," she said softly.

TBC. Keep those reviews coming!


	6. Chapter Six

Thanks for all the reviews – really appreciate it. As for those who like the idea of Emma Jane and Michaela meeting up…watch this space!

**1865 – Eight Years Later**

"You're glowing," Emma Jane said, sitting down in Abigail's living room, "I don't think I've ever seen you looking so radiant."

"I'm the size of a homestead!" Abigail retorted good-naturedly, "I don't think 'radiant' is a word I would use."

"I would," Sully said, appearing in the living room beside them, "I think she looks beautiful, don't you?" He looked questioningly at Emma Jane.

"Definitely," she replied smiling, "Impending motherhood suits you."

"She's never been more beautiful," Sully continued, clearly besotted with the coming birth of his child.

"Sully," Abigail looked at his warningly.

"Oh," he glanced at Emma Jane, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"It's fine," she waved her hand dismissively, "don't worry about it." He disappeared back outside and Abigail turned sympathetic eyes on her.

"I'm sorry. I keep forgetting how sad it must be for you."

"It's fine, honestly," Emma Jane reassured her, "besides, I'm looking forward to being your baby's favourite aunt." Despite her jolly humour however, she was feeling sensitive regarding Abigail's pregnancy. Not that she begrudged her friend the chance at motherhood at all, having waited all these years, but in the eight years since losing her own baby, Emma Jane had been seemingly unable to conceive. It hadn't been from lack of trying either, she ruefully told herself, thinking of the many mornings, afternoons and evenings she and Hank had spent in bed together. It was seemingly all to no avail however. Every month her monthly came, and every month she sighed heavily and moved on. At twenty-four, she was fast approaching the age of being too old. Abigail, at twenty-six was considered practically ancient to be having a first baby.

"Well, this baby's going to need everybody it can get," Abigail said sorrowfully, stroking her stomach gently, "Seeing as Ma and Pa…" she broke off.

"Still no sign of them mellowing?"

Abigail shook her head, "Eight years!" she declared, "It's been eight years! You would think surely, by now…" she sighed heavily, "they won't even look at me."

Emma Jane grimaced sympathetically. It certainly hadn't been easy for either Abigail or her husband over the preceding years. After their return from Denver, married and ecstatic, they had tried valiantly to win Loren and Maud over, but to no avail. Secretly, Emma Jane thought that Maud was having doubts regarding the wall of silence, and that she would really want to make peace with her daughter, but Loren was steadfast in his refusal to do so. He saw Abigail's actions as a betrayal. Even when Maud had gifted them the land upon which their homestead now stood, Loren had refused to bend.

"Well, we're in the same boat," Emma Jane said, "if I ever become pregnant again, my parents won't want to be involved. They won't even know about it." In all this time, she had never had any further contact with her parents, her brother Thomas being the only one to keep in touch with the occasional letter.

"Look at the pair of us," Abigail laughed, "We're a sorry pair."

"You're right about that," Emma Jane replied. "Cast out by our families, called ungrateful…"

"Selfish…"

"Pig-headed," they both fell about laughing, "Oh dear," Emma Jane wiped away a stray tear of laughter, "Do you know something? Despite all this, I still love being here. I wouldn't change the past eight years for anything."

"Nor me," Abigail admitted, "I certainly wouldn't change the man I married."

"No," Emma Jane echoed, "neither would I."

As she rode home, quite proficiently now, she thought back over everything that had transpired. She and Abigail had become closer than ever, Loren had become more distant, Hank had become more loving, Charlotte had had another baby, a beautiful blond tyke called Brian, who was now six. So many things had changed over the years.

When she pulled Willow up outside the saloon, she found Hank and Jake lazing on the porch watching the world go by.

"Haven't you got better things to do?" she inquired.

"Just keeping an eye on the town," Jake assured her.

"I bet," she replied good-naturedly, tying Willow up, "Might help if someone kept an eye on the bar though."

"Jessica's fine," Hank told her, blowing smoke in her face, "How's Abigail?"

"Very pregnant," Emma Jane laughed, "I swear I won't be surprised if there's more than one baby lurking in there." She stepped into the saloon, greeting the regulars as she went past and then moved behind the bar to allow Jessica to go and try and make some real money. As she started clearing up some of the glasses, Hank came and leant across the bar in front of her.

"You a'right?"

"Of course," she replied brightly, perhaps a little too brightly, "Why shouldn't I be?"

"Just figured you might be a bit upset, what with Abigail pregnant an' all."

"I'm not upset, I'm very happy for her." Emma Jane replied, not lifting her head.

Hank ducked his so that he could catch her eye, "Know you better than that."

She looked up at him, "All right, I suppose I'm a little envious, that's all. But I'm happy for them, for both of them. They've waited a long time for this too."

"But yer still waitin'."

"Thanks for reminding me."

"All I'm sayin' is, don't be gettin' too upset about it. If it's gonna happen, it'll happen."

"Will it?" she looked him square in the face, "Maybe you only get one shot, Hank. Maybe I blew mine all those years ago."

"Then hows comes Charlotte's got three?" he asked, breaking a hole in her logic.

Emma Jane shrugged, "I don't know."

Hank was prevented from saying anything more, although there was plenty he wanted to say, by Horace appearing in the saloon, holding a telegram.

"Hello Horace," Emma Jane greeted him, glad to be able to take her mind off of babies, "What can I do for you?"

"Got a telegram for you," Horace replied, holding it out to her, "I'm really sorry, Emma Jane."

"What for?" She took the telegram from him and read it quickly, "Oh no."

"What is it?" Hank asked, trying to read it upside down.

"It's my sister, Lydia," Emma Jane replied, "She's…dead."

"What?" Hank grabbed the telegram from her, skimmed it quickly and looked back up at her. "Emma Jane. Lydia has died. Request you return home immediately. Thomas." He repeated it.

Emma Jane stood, as if frozen in time. Lydia was dead. Her mean, spiteful, cruel sister was dead. Yet she took no joy from the news. Over the years, Thomas had written and told her of how Lydia and Arthur had two daughters. They would only be four and five and now they had lost their mother.

"What you gonna do?" Hank asked.

"I…I don't know," she replied truthfully, "he asks that I go back to New York but…he doesn't say if that's what my parents want, or…" she trailed off, "I don't know what to do." She looked at Hank, hoping that he could give her an answer, but he only had the answer that was selfish for himself.

SSSSSSSSSSSS

"I think you should go," Abigail told her when Emma Jane relayed what had happened.

"Why?"

"Because this could be your chance to make peace," her friend advised her wisely, "You might never get the opportunity again. Your parents must be so devastated about Lydia."

"Yes, well, she was the perfect child after all," Emma Jane replied sardonically.

"Whatever you think of them, they're still grieving," Abigail said, "I know if Ma and Pa offered me an olive branch…"

"But they haven't offered me anything!" Emma Jane interrupted, "It's Thomas that's asked me to come home, not them."

"Maybe they're too proud."

"Maybe they don't care."

"Maybe not," Abigail acquiesced, "but if you go, at least you can always say you tried."

Emma Jane reckoned that Abigail was right. Were she to refused Thomas's request, it would seem as though she were the sullen one, not willing to bend, even in the wake of such terrible tragedy. When she told her husband this, however, Hank was far from agreeable.

"What you wanna go back there for?" he demanded that evening, "Spent most of the first few months you was here tryin' to avoid goin' back!"

"I know," she tried to placate him, "but it's been eight years and my sister has died. I owe it to my family to pay my respects."

"Don't owe them nothin'," Hank grumbled, turning away from her.

"I'm never going to be able to make things up with Lydia," she told him, "but I can at least try with my parents."

"They said you were dead to them, or don't you remember?"

"Of course I remember. How could I forget?"

"Then why go back?" he turned back to face her, "They don't care about you, Emma Jane, they don't love you." He pulled her into his arms, "I do."

"I know you do," she replied resting her head underneath his chin, "but this is something that I have to do. Please, please try and understand."

He sighed heavily and pulled back to look at her, "Don't want you to go. But guess I couldn't stop you anyhow." He kissed her, "You just make sure you hurry back."

"I promise."

The following morning, dressed in a beautiful blue dress that Thomas had sent her for her birthday the previous year, Emma Jane left the saloon with her belongings and headed for the stagecoach that would take her to Denver. Hank carried her luggage for her and passed it up to the driver, while all around, people wished her well.

"Have a safe journey," Charlotte said.

"I will," she replied, "You look after your Ma, Matthew" she said to Charlotte's eldest, who was now almost fifteen.

"Will do, Miss Emma Jane," he replied with a smile.

"Emma Jane?" she turned to see Abigail walking slowly towards her.

"What are you doing here?" Emma Jane gasped, hugging her gently, "You're supposed to be resting!"

"Couldn't let you go without saying goodbye," Abigail said, "I'm really going to miss you."

"Don't have that baby without me," Emma Jane teased, touching Abigail's stomach briefly, "I want to be here for every gruesome moment."

Abigail smiled, "Then don't be away too long." She hugged her again, then stepped back to allow Hank to hug his wife.

"Wish you weren't goin'," he mumbled into her neck.

"I'll be back before you know it," she promised him, hoping that she wouldn't start to cry, "Just don't be taking in any other posh women while I'm away."

He laughed, "Don't you be pickin' up any wayward men on that train."

"I'll do my best," she hugged him tightly, before climbing into the stage and sitting down. "I'll wire when I get there." Then the stage started to pull away from the town and Emma Jane waved until they turned the corner and she could see them no more. Her heart was heavy, more than she could ever have thought possible. Eight years earlier, when they had pulled into Colorado Springs, she had felt like weeping. Now, pulling out, she felt exactly the same.

Back in town, Hank stood watching where the stage had been, his own heart heavy. Jake came up behind him and clapped him on the back, "You're a free man now."

"Guess so," Hank replied.

"Don't worry, she'll be back."

"I hope so," he replied.

SSSSSSS

As New York drew nearer, Emma Jane's nervousness increased tenfold. With every passing mile of rolling countryside between Denver and New York, she felt a gnawing in the pit of her stomach, wondering what it would be like when she was back home, wondering what kind of reception she would get. Deep down, she also felt a sense of loss for Lydia, despite everything. They had been sisters, and had shared some kind of bond, even if it was one that was practically unrecognisable.

When the train drew into Grand Central Station, Emma Jane lifted her luggage and jumped down onto the platform, her mind instantly travelling back eight years when she had climbed aboard as a stowaway. She had wired Thomas, asking him to meet her, but as she looked around at all the people milling back and forth, she suddenly wondered if she would recognise him at all.

"Emma Jane! Emma Jane!" She turned at the sound of her name and saw a young man running towards her, "Emma Jane, I'm so sorry I'm late!"

"Thomas?" she was so taken aback at the sight of her brother, the spitting image of her father, that for a moment, she stood dumbstruck.

"Of course it's me you idiot," he replied playfully, sweeping her up into a hug, "Who else would it be?"

"Oh, it's so good to see you!" she replied, hugging him back, "It's been so long!"

"Too long," he reminded her, "and I wish we were reunited under better circumstances."

Emma Jane's smile faded, "Yes, me too. How is everyone holding up?"

"Arthur's a mess," Thomas replied grimly, "it's all he can do to function. Mrs Brentwood, Lydia's housekeeper, has been looking after the girls. As for Mother and Father…" he trailed off.

"Do they know I'm coming?"

He looked slightly ashamed, "Uh…no."

"Thomas…"

"I know, I know, I should have told them!" he beseeched her, "but somehow, I just couldn't."

"They won't want to see me," she said miserably, "I should just get back on the train right now."

"Don't be silly," he lifted her case, "I'm sure once they get over the shock, it'll all be fine. Come on, I've got a carriage waiting." He led her out of the station into the hot, New York air and helped her into the waiting carriage. As they moved through the streets, Emma Jane recognised all the old landmarks, the library, the museums, she had visited them all as a child. Even the streets looked the same. As they pulled up in front of their parents house, her sense of doom descended once again.

The house looked as it always had, like every other house in the street, except the curtains were closed, and there was a wreath on the door, indicating to anyone who passed by that there had been a death in the family.

Thomas helped her out of the carriage, paid the driver and led the way up the steps to the front door. He knocked and a few moments later, it was open by Helen, the same maid who had worked at the house for as long as Emma Jane could remember.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Miss Emma Jane!"

"Helen," Emma Jane greeted her warmly, "It's good to see you again."

"And you!" Helen returned joyfully, then her smile faded as if she remembered the occasion, "We're all terribly sorry about Miss Lydia."

"Thank you," Emma Jane replied, although she knew they weren't, not really. Lydia had always abused the servants when she had been younger.

"Who's there?" Mr Brown's voice echoed from the top of the stairs.

"It's me, Father," Thomas replied, "and I've brought a visitor."

"This house is in mourning," Mr Brown replied, starting to descend, "Why have you…?" he stopped short at the sight of his daughter.

"Father," she greeted him carefully. He continued to look at her, as if she were a ghost from the past, "Thomas told me about Lydia," she explained hurriedly, "I came as soon as I could. I'm so sorry Father…" she moved forwards to him, but he stepped back.

"What is the meaning of this?" he directed his question to Thomas.

"Father, Emma Jane is our sister, your daughter. I felt she should be here…"

"You had no right!"

"Don't blame Thomas, Father," Emma Jane pleaded, "It was my decision to come."

"You shouldn't have." He replied. "You're not welcome here."

Emma Jane lowered her eyes, "I wanted to pay my respects to Lydia."

"Please Father. Let her stay, at least until the funeral is over." Thomas begged.

Mr Brown sighed heavily. His emotions were too fragile to engage in open warfare. "All right, you can stay until the funeral. I don't have the energy to fight with you." He walked past Emma Jane and into his study, whereupon he closed the door.

"Thank goodness," Thomas let out a shaky breath, "I knew he would let you stay."

"I don't think I've ever seen him looking so terrible," she observed, "He was always so strong, so in command."

"Mother's worse," he told her, "there's some days she doesn't even get out of bed, like today." He gestured upstairs, "Losing Lydia has really been a terrible shock for her."

"I should go and see her," Emma Jane said, reluctant though she was to do so.

"Good luck," Thomas said, "I'll put your things in your room."

Emma Jane slowly began to make her way upstairs to her parents room, every footstep feeling as one taking her closer and closer to enemy lines. She wondered if this was how soldiers felt, walking to certain bloodshed. When she reached the door, she knocked gently and her mother's weak voice told her to enter. Pushing open the door, she realised the room was in partial darkness. Mrs Brown lay in bed, her nightgown pulled up to her chin, her face waxy pale in the dim light.

"Who is it?" she asked weakly.

"It's me, Mother," Emma Jane said, closing the door behind her.

"Lydia?" Mrs Brown asked, a note of panic in her voice.

"No, Mother. It's me, Emma Jane."

"Emma Jane? Come here, let me look at you." Mrs Brown beckoned her over to the bed. Emma Jane stood at the bedside, looking down at her mother. "Give me your hand." She did as requested, "Rough. A worker's hands." She tossed her daughter's hand away.

"I work hard, Mother," Emma Jane said, trying to keep her anger in check.

"In a whorehouse," Mrs Brown spat.

"I came to offer my condolences, Mother," Emma Jane tried to change the subject, "I'm so terribly sorry about Lydia."

"Ha! You weren't fit to clean her boots," Mrs Brown retorted viciously, "You chose your life, Emma Jane. A life of drudgery. A life with a man who uses you as his whore."

"That's not true."

"It is true!" Mrs Brown seemed to come alive, "My Lydia was a sweet, gentle girl. She had a lovely husband and such lovely children…" she started to cry, "those poor babies."

"Father says I can stay until after the funeral."

"I don't want you here."

"Well I'm sorry Mother, but I'm staying," she replied firmly, "and I don't particularly care how you feel about it."

"Insolent, impudent…"

"Speak all you like, Mother. Lydia was my sister and I am here to pay my respects. I shan't be here long and then you need never see me again." With that, Emma Jane swept out of her mother's room and ran downstairs whereupon she came upon Thomas putting on his coat. "You're not leaving me, are you?" she demanded, horrified at the very thought.

"Of course not," he laughed, "I'm going to see Lucy and Sarah. Would you like to come?"

The thought of seeing what kind of children Lydia had produced was too tempting, so, she accompanied Thomas in the carriage to what had been Lydia and Arthur's home. A large house, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the Brown residence and nothing whatsoever like the saloon.

Mrs Brentwood, the housekeeper, let them in and after being introduced to Emma Jane, whom she eyed critically, she led them upstairs to the nursery where Lucy and Sarah were playing. Lucy, the eldest, had hair the colour of burnt amber, exactly like Emma Jane herself. Sarah, on the other hand, was the spitting image of Lydia, right down to her shrewd little eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked, upon spying the stranger with her uncle Thomas.

"I'm Emma Jane," she held out her hand, "I was your Mommy's sister."

"Mommy didn't have a sister," Sarah replied suspiciously.

"Yes she did, and I'm it," Emma Jane replied, "I do like your doll house." It was certainly most impressive and no doubt incredibly expensive.

"Daddy bought it for us," Sarah said.

Emma Jane looked at Lucy, "You must be Lucy." The child nodded, but didn't say anything, "You've got the same hair colour as me."

"Mommy said people with red hair are wicked," Sarah chipped in innocently.

"Did she now?" Emma Jane gritted her teeth. Trust Lydia, "Do you think I'm wicked?"

Sarah thought about it for a moment and then shook her head, "I think you're nice."

"I'm glad about that," Emma Jane grinned at Thomas.

They played with the children for an hour or so, before Thomas suggested they go back to the house for supper.

"Will we see you again?" Sarah demanded.

"Yes, I'll be at the…" Emma Jane checked herself, "I'll be around tomorrow."

"Good," Sarah replied happily.

As she and Thomas left, Emma Jane turned to him, tears in her eyes, "Those poor little girls. Despite my feelings towards Lydia, she has lovely children."

Thomas nodded, "I was surprised too. I think Arthur had a hand in that though."

"Poor Arthur," Emma Jane said, "He's clearly taking it very badly." The whole length of their visit, he had shut himself away and hadn't come out.

"When Lydia fell ill, he fell to pieces," Thomas said. "I think he thought she was going to get better, but the influenza was too strong." He sighed, "All those wasted years."

"Yes," Emma Jane said, "All those wasted years.

SSSSSSSSSS

A few hours later, having made a quick detour to the nearest telegraph office so as to wire Hank, Emma Jane found herself at one of the most difficult family dinners in living memory. Mrs Brown had asked for her dinner on a tray, while Mr Brown had emerged from his study, but seemed reluctant to engage in conversation.

"Has Colorado Springs changed much over the years?" Thomas asked. Emma Jane glared at him, "I mean in the eight years since you've been there."

"It's expanded," she replied.

"I'd love to come and visit."

"You'd be welcome, any time."

"Must we talk about such a place?" Mr Brown said finally, "I've no wish to hear about it."

"I was only inquiring, Father," Thomas replied.

"I saw enough of that place for myself without hearing about it at my own dinner table." Emma Jane sighed. "Do I displease you?" her father asked.

"No, Father," she replied, surprised. "I apologise."

"For what? For breaking your mother's heart? She cried the whole journey back here after we left you in that place."

"That place is my home."

"It's a hovel, that's what it is. Everything you gave up. Everything you had." He looked pointedly at her, "Why was it Lydia and not you?"

"Father!" Thomas exclaimed.

Emma Jane threw her napkin down onto the table and raced out of the room, up the stairs and into her bedroom, whereupon she threw herself onto the bed and sobbed. This had been a huge mistake. She had left Colorado Springs, left Hank for what? To be abused and shouted at and discarded all over again. It had been a lovely notion of Abigail's, that everything could be resolved, but clearly it was not a reality. She ached for Hank, wished he were here to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be ok. She wished she could go to sleep and wake up back in the saloon, instead of in this opulent bedroom. She hated everything it stood for even more now than she had then. Thank goodness Lydia's funeral was to be held tomorrow and then she could finally leave.

SSSSSSSSSS

The following morning, when she awoke, Emma Jane lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a long time before getting up. Today was going to be one hell of a day. Lydia was being buried from St Matthew's Church, a most respectable place. Thomas had told her that most of the cream of New York society were coming to pay their respects, which would mean even more people whispering behind their hands about the prodigal daughter who lived in a pigsty.

Dressed in a simple black dress, Emma Jane made her way downstairs and met with Thomas for a solemn breakfast. They ate little and spoke little, neither knowing how to behave. Mr and Mrs Brown did not appear until later, the latter, clinging onto her husband's arm for support. While they addressed Thomas, they did not acknowledge their younger daughter, and she trailed them out of the house, feeling like a spare part.

The streets were crowded with people all awaiting the funeral cortege. It appeared around the corner, four black horses with plumes led by a man in a top hat. Inside, lay Lydia's coffin, flowers on top of it, followed by another carriage to take the family to St Matthews. Emma Jane wisely kept her own counsel, not wanting to start a fight. She knew what it was like to lose a baby, but not what it was like to lose a child. Their progress to the church was slow, many people pausing to remove their hats and bow their heads. Amongst the murmurs of respect, were also the murmurs from passers by about Emma Jane and her presence with the family group. She was tempted to stand up and yell, "Yes! I am here! This is me!" But dignity restrained her.

"Are you all right, Mother?" she inquired once, but the look she received in return kept her silent for the rest of the journey. At the church, she caught sight of Mrs Brentwood holding Sarah and Lucy by the hands. Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

Upon seeing her, Sarah ran over and grabbed her hand. Despite her surprise, Emma Jane held onto it tightly and accompanied her niece into the service. It was long and tedious, the minister waxing eloquently about God and the resurrection to eternal life. He spoke of how well loved Lydia was, at which point she and Thomas shared a knowing glance. And at the cemetery after, as her sister was lowered into the ground, Emma Jane threw a handful of dirt onto the coffin and made her peace.

"Emma Jane!" A high-pitched female voice reached her ears as the party started to make its way away from the graveside. Emma Jane turned to see Georgina Bowman, a woman in her mid-forties who had never married, and yet thought herself the expert on all things, "Emma Jane Brown, well I never. No-one ever expected to see you in these parts again."

"I suppose not," she humoured her, "However, it's Emma Jane Lawson now, Miss Bowman."

"Oh of course, of course," Georgina waved her hand, "You're a married woman, so I hear tell. Quite a wanton one at that."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, we all know the story my dear. You running off and marrying some completely unsuitable man who own a brothel!" she put her hand to her chest, "Society almost had a heart attack."

Mindful of the fact she was still holding Sarah's hand, Emma Jane tried to maintain her composure, "I apologise for having upset society so," she said, "but I've never been happier. New York never was the place for me."

"Yes, but, one must always remember from where one came," Georgina continued, "One must remember one's birthright, and one's manners."

"One has no birthright. Not any more at least."

"Don't say such things!" Georgina chided her, "Your poor Mother has already lost one child!"

"My poor mother cast me out years ago!" Emma Jane informed her, "I only came here to pay my respects to Lydia."

"My dear, there's no need to be so aggressive."

"I'm not being aggressive!" Emma Jane took a deep breath, "If you'll excuse me." With that, she practically dragged Sarah down to where Thomas was standing, "I want to go home, now."

"We're heading there now anyway," he assured her, "Sorry about old Georgina. She…"

"No, I want to go home to Colorado Springs. Now!" She glared at her brother, "Please take me home so I can get my belongings."

"Emma Jane…"

"Thomas, I am sick of this damn place and I want to go home now!" She didn't care who heard her.

"You're going away?" Sarah's little voice floated upwards.

Emma Jane crouched down next to her, "Yes I am."

"I don't want you to go." Tears filled her eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I have to." Emma Jane hardened her heart, "I'll write to you and Lucy though, I promise." Ignoring Sarah's wails, she practically forced Thomas into a carriage back to the house whereupon she ran upstairs and started throwing things into her case. As she dragged it back down, she was stopped at the door by the thunderous face of her father.

"I'm leaving, Father. Just as you wished. You need never hear from me again. In fact, you won't hear from me again."

"Emma Jane…" his voice broke, "Child…"

Emma Jane's mouth dropped open as her father began to cry. So taken aback was she, that she dropped her case and even found herself putting her arms around him, comforting him as he sobbed.

"Lydia's gone," he said.

"And you wish it were me instead," she said.

Mr Brown pulled back and looked at her, "I was closest to Lydia. But you're my daughter too."

"It didn't seem that way. Not when you tried to bribe Hank to sell me back to you."

"I only wanted you home with us."

"I'm sorry you didn't get your wish. But now that I'm dead to you…"

"You are not dead to me, Emma Jane. You will never be dead to me. Lydia is dead. You, are alive."

Emma Jane looked at him, "Then why treat me as if I don't matter? I still love you all, despite everything? When I arrived here you wanted to turn me away."

Mr Brown sighed, "You may not have made the choices I would have wished for you. But you're still my daughter and I love you."

"And Mother?"

He paused, "She may be harder to convince."

"I'm sorry I don't have the time to try."

"Must you leave?"

She nodded, "I want to go home, Father. I miss my friends and I miss my husband, very much."

He smiled at her, "Then go. Go live your life."

Emma Jane hugged him tightly and then climbed into a carriage to take her to the station. As she waited to board the train, thoughts swam around in her head. If ever she had considered it a mistake leaving New York, she knew now that it hadn't been. She belonged in Colorado Springs. She belonged with Hank and Abigail and Charlotte and everyone who cared about her. When she found her seat, she put her head back and closed her eyes, thinking about going home.

SSSSSSSSSSS

The town was eerily quiet when she returned, nearly two weeks since she had left. As the stagecoach rolled into the centre, she noticed that most places were deserted and that the shutters were drawn at Bray's Mercantile. When the stage stopped, she opened the door, climbed out and turned around to identify her luggage to the driver.

"Emma Jane."

She turned to see Hank coming towards her from the saloon and she hurried over to him, allowing him to fold her into his arms and hold her tightly against him.

"I missed you so much," she said, looking up to kiss him, "So, so much."

"Missed you too," he replied, but his eyes were sad.

"Oh it was awful," Emma Jane started, "But then, my Father surprised me completely by telling me…"

"Emma…" he stopped her mid-flow.

"What is it?" she asked, "Come to that, why is everywhere so quiet?"

He looked down at the ground before he could meet her gaze, "Abigail…she went into labour…"

"Oh!" Emma Jane gasped, "Oh she promised to wait! Oh, is it a boy or a girl?"

"A girl, listen…"

"Oh that's wonderful! Oh I have to go and see her! Oh she and Sully must be thrilled! They both really wanted a girl…"

"Emma!" the sharpness in his tone caused her to look wounded, "There were problems."

"Problems?" Emma Jane frowned, "What sort of problems? Hank, is Abigail all right?"

He shook his head, "She and the baby. They both died."

Emma Jane felt as though the world was spinning out of control. It couldn't be. Not Abigail. Not Abigail who was so strong. "No," she gasped, "No, oh no!" Tears filled her eyes and sobs heaved from within her chest, "No…Abigail…." She lurched forward into Hank's arms, feeling as though her heart was breaking. To have been absolved by her father, only to come home to this… "Abigail!" she sobbed.

Hank held her closely to him and, when he felt her legs buckle, lifted her up into his arms and carried her across the deserted street and into the saloon.

TBC – thanks for the reviews!


	7. Chapter Seven

Appreciate all the reviews – thanks guys!

"The good Lord giveth and the good Lord taketh away. Lord, we commit our dear departed daughters Abigail and Hannah to your care, in sure and certain hope that they will be resurrected unto eternal life. Amen."

Rev Johnston closed his hymnbook and stood for a moment in silence at the graveside as the residents of Colorado Springs paid their respects to their lost children. The town had turned out in force to mourn. Abigail had been a popular girl, and over the years, Sully had become a steadfast member of the town. To have lost both his wife and child in such cruel circumstances was, as far as many were concerned, too much tragedy for any one man to bear.

Hank stole a glance at him, where he stood at the head of the grave, and felt a profound sense of pity. The man looked nothing short of broken, tears running down his face. On the opposite side of the grave, Loren stood holding onto Maud. Neither of them had spoken to Sully since the tragedy, so locked in their own private grief. The only person to have spoken to all three was the Reverend, and even he had apparently found it difficult to offer words of comfort. Abigail had been so young, so strong and Hannah, nothing but a baby, not even given the chance to start life.

From his position in the cemetery, Hank could see the top window of the saloon and knew that at that very moment, Emma Jane was lying in bed, where she had stayed virtually ever since her return from New York. When he had carried her into the saloon the previous afternoon, she had been inconsolable, clinging to him like a child, refusing to let him go. He had held her all night while she raged and cried, until finally she had fallen into a troubled sleep, her brow creased with anxiety. That morning, her tears had gone, to be replaced by a profound sense of quiet, almost as if she was somewhere else. He had tried to persuade her to get up and come to the funeral, to say goodbye to Abigail, but she had refused.

"I can't," she had said, "I can't go. It would be like admitting she had gone."

"She _has _gone," he had said, gently, but firmly. But his words had had no effect.

"I should have been here," she had repeated, a lone tear trickling down her cheek. He hadn't known what to say, so he had left her in bed and come to the funeral to pay his respects. He hadn't known Abigail the way Emma Jane had, but he remembered the day she had fallen off the horse and he had thought he was going to lose her. It was nowhere near the same, but he felt a connection nevertheless.

The crowds started to drift slowly away from the graveyard, leaving Sully, Loren and Maud still standing.

"You killed her," Loren said, turning angry eyes on his son-in-law, "You killed my little girl."

Sully didn't respond. Instead, he turned and began to walk away in the other direction. Hank wondered if he should go after him, but Jake came up behind him, "Reckon folks could use a drink," he said.

"Sure," Hank replied, falling into step with his friend as they headed back towards the saloon. He glanced up again at the window, but there was no sign of his wife.

"How's Emma Jane takin' it?" Jake asked, following his friend's gaze.

"Not good," he replied honestly, "Pretty cut up that she weren't here." He pushed open the door to the saloon where the girls were waiting to solicit custom. Jessica came up to him.

"Emma Jane hasn't come out of her room," she relayed.

"Thanks," he said, "Serve will ya?" He climbed the stairs to the bedroom and pushed open the door. Emma Jane still lay in bed, facing towards the window. "Emma?" She didn't stir. "Emma."

"Is it over?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah."

"I should have been here," Emma Jane repeated, "I should never have left her."

"Weren't yer fault."

"Yes it was."

"You didn't kill her, baby did."

"Don't say that!" Emma Jane turned angry eyes on him, "Don't ever say that! Abigail loved that baby!"

"A'right, a'right, I'm sorry."

"Don't ever say that! A baby doesn't kill you, it's everything else! Outside factors. It's people, it's nature. But it's not a baby!"

"Ok, ok, Emma…" he sat down beside her, "I'm sorry."

She quietened again suddenly, "Did you see Sully?" Hank nodded, "I should speak to him." She threw the covers off and jumped out of the bed, pulling off her nightgown and reaching for a dress.

"Emma Jane," Hank grabbed her arm, "What is goin' on?"

"I need to speak to Sully," she wrenched her arm from his grasp, "I need to tell him that I'm sorry."

"One minute yer lyin' in bed, refusin' to git out, the next you want to run off and see Sully?" Hank couldn't understand her logic.

"I have to," she insisted, pulling on the dress, "I have to tell him I'm sorry."

"Ain't yer fault!" He was becoming increasingly exasperated.

"Please," she looked at him, "please, let me go."

"Can't stop you," he said, throwing up his hands, "Just wish you would talk to me, that's all."

"I _am_ talking to you," she replied smiling. But he could tell it wasn't a true smile. It didn't reach her eyes and they were definitely somewhere else.

SSSSSS

The homestead held no joy for Sully now. As he stood and looked around at all the familiar nooks and crannies, all he could think of was what had taken place little more than a few days earlier. Only last Sunday, he and Abigail had been discussing names, settling on Hannah for a girl and James for a boy. Now she was gone, they both were, and he wasn't going to get them back.

It all seemed like a dream. He remembered waking to the sound of Abigail's whimpered cries, confirming that their baby was finally coming. He had left her, for all of fifteen minutes, while he raced into town to bring Charlotte back. When they had returned, Abigail had been lying on the floor in a pool of blood, unconscious. Charlotte had demanded he go outside while she tried valiantly to save mother and child. But the haemorrhaging had been too severe and, shortly after pushing their baby girl into the world, Abigail had taken her last breath. He hadn't even been there to witness it, instead, he had to make do with the briefest of moments with Hannah, before she too slipped away.

With every passing minute, he kept thinking that Abigail was about to come inside, one hand protectively over her stomach, laughing gaily at something which had struck her as funny. But the deafening silence only seemed to mock him more and more. He had wandered aimlessly into his workshop, and found the half-finished rocking horse he had been making for the baby. He looked at it for so long his eyes began to hurt, thinking of how his child would never ride it.

The sound of horses hooves broke into his thoughts, and for a moment, he believed it to be Abigail and hurried outside. To his dismay, it was only Emma Jane trotting towards him, her face drawn and sad.

"Sully…" she said, pulling up in front of him and climbing down, "I…I'm so sorry." He nodded, "I wish I had been here, I really do. It's my biggest regret that…"

"Well you weren't," he replied harshly, "and she died anyway. They both did."

"I couldn't believe it when Hank told me," Emma Jane continued, "I mean, not Abigail. She was so strong, so alive. It doesn't seem fair somehow."

"No, it doesn't."

Emma Jane watched his face, looking for any clue as to whether or not he blamed her for what had happened, but she saw nothing but sorrow. "I'm sorry I wasn't at the funeral this morning," she looked down at the ground, "but I just couldn't."

Sully shrugged, "Makes no odds."

"Of course it does! I already feel terrible about what's happened."

"I'm sorry, but I don't have time to take on your pain too," Sully pushed past her and hurried back into the homestead, leaving Emma Jane dumbfounded. She hurried after him, bursting through the door.

"I wasn't asking you to take on my pain," she insisted, "I was only explaining why I wasn't there."

"You were her best friend," Sully rounded on her, "You were the person she looked up to the most." He paused, "Do you know what Loren said to me at the graveside today?" Emma Jane shook her head, "He told me that I'd killed Abigail. That I'd taken away his little girl." He laughed bitterly, "And he's right."

"Don't say that," Emma Jane protested.

"I gave her that child! I married her!" He looked at her, "But it was you who talked her into marrying me."

"What?"

"You filled her head with romantic notions of you and Hank! If you hadn't done that, she would never have agreed to elope with me, never! She would have married Martin and she would still be alive!" Tears started to stream down his face. Emma Jane moved forward to put her arms around him, but he stepped back, "Just go!"

"Sully, please…"

"I said go!" He yelled at her.

Emma Jane stood for a moment longer and then turned to leave, hurrying out of the homestead and running over to where she had left her horse. She mounted and rode away quickly, not looking back. As she rode, she could hear his voice in her head, blaming her, telling her it was all her fault. By the time she reached town, her head was in turmoil so, instead of heading back towards the saloon, she turned and rode down to the church. She tied her horse up outside and climbed the steps to the door, gingerly pushing it open.

The church was deserted, so she walked down the aisle, conscious of the noise her boots were making on the wooden floor, and sat down in one of the pews, looking up at the alter. She wasn't quite sure what being here was going to achieve, but in some strange way, it soothed her. Back in New York, she had hated going to church, due to the fact that the minister seemed at if he were rapidly approaching a hundred years of age. His voice had been waving and scratchy and it had been all Emma Jane could do not to scream and run outside. Here in Colorado Springs, she had started going to church every week, inspired by Reverend Johnston. He was young, kind and sympathetic, and didn't judge her for the choices she had made, or where she happened to live. She had tried at one point to persuade Hank to come with her, but he had put his foot down, claiming religion wasn't his thing.

"Emma Jane?" Rev Johnston's voice petered through her thoughts and she looked round to see him coming down the aisle towards her.

"Reverend."

"How are you?"

"Fine," she replied quietly.

"We missed you at the funeral this morning."

Emma Jane looked back at him, to see if _he _blamed her, but she saw nothing but compassion in his expression. "I couldn't come," she explained, "I just couldn't bear to see Abigail put into the ground."

"I understand," he sat down beside her, "You were very close."

"She was the first person who talked to me, who took the time to get to know me, who didn't judge me." Emma Jane sighed, "And now she's gone and I wasn't here when she died."

"You were with her in spirit," he reassured her.

"No," she shook her head sorrowfully, "I was too busy fighting with my parents over things that should have been said years ago. I was attending the funeral of a sister that I didn't care half as much for as I cared for Abigail." She took a deep shuddering breath, "I had my priorities all wrong."

"Nothing comes before family."

"Abigail was family, Lydia wasn't. If I could change things…"

"We can never change things that have been, Emma Jane. We can only deal with them in the best way we can, knowing that God is always there to guide us and look after us."

She turned to him, "What sort of God would strike down a woman as young and healthy as Abigail, and an innocent child like Hannah? What did everyone who loved her ever do to deserve the pain that her death is causing us?"

"I don't have all the answers…"

"Then who does?" she raged, "Tell me that Reverend. Who does?"

"I can't."

"No," she said with finality, "You can't." With that, she stood up and pushed past him out of the pew and ran back up the aisle and out of the church into the afternoon sunshine. She unhooked her horse, mounted and rode back to the saloon, tears streaming down her face. When she got there, she didn't even bother to tie the horse up, instead, she stormed into the saloon and surveyed the customers, "Look at all of you!" she declared loudly, "All of you men, in here drinking and partaking of the entertainment, when your wives are at home looking after your children!" She moved over to one of the tables, "You've got a wife," she pointed at one, "and you. And your wife's expecting!" She shouted at another, who was sitting with one of the girls on his knee. "I've seen her! And you're in here, when you should be at home with her!"

Hank came up behind his wife, "Emma Jane." His tone was quiet, yet it also held a slight threat.

"You all make me sick!" she continued to rage, "Look at Sully! He loved Abigail so much! He was a wonderful husband and was looking forward to being a father to their child! He's lost all that now, and yet you all sit in here, wasting your lives and your money…"

"Emma Jane," Hank grabbed her arm, but she wrenched it back.

"You all should be ashamed of yourselves!" She yelled, "Ashamed!" Hank grabbed her again, dragging her away from the table and upstairs, despite her resistance.

"Get off me!" She screamed at him, as he forced her into the bedroom.

"The hell was that?" he demanded, "You tryin' to make business even worse than it already is?"

"What do you care?" she retorted bitterly, "You're just like all of them down there. You sit and drink with them, you encourage them to get drunk and go with the girls while their wives are at home!"

"That's enough," he warned her.

"You don't care about anything! You don't care about me! You're as bad as Sully, blaming me for everything that goes wrong! Do you think that I don't see that you believe it's my fault that I haven't given you a child? I know you blame me for that, and yet have you ever stopped to consider that it might be you? That it might be you who's defective, not me!"

"Stop it!"

"I hate this place!" she screamed, "I hate everything about it! I hate you! I hate you, I hate you!"

Faced with this onslaught, and unsure how to calm her hysterics, Hank resorted to the age old solution of how a man should deal with his wife, by slapping Emma Jane hard across the face. Her tirade stopped immediately and her hand flew to her face. She stepped back from him, her eyes wide and frightened. In eight years of marriage, despite threatening it in public for bravado, Hank had never raised his hand to her.

"You…" her voice trembled.

Shame instantly flooded through Hank, "Emma, Emma I'm sorry…" he stepped towards her, but she stepped back again, "I didn't mean it," he said, "I'm so sorry, please, please forgive me."

"You…you…" she couldn't think of a word harsh enough to describe him. Tears continued to spill down her cheeks and the side of her face burned from the force of his hand. She had always been aware of her husband's background and attitude, always known he was part of the rougher element, but never would she have thought…

"You were hysterical!" he tried to justify himself, "You were screamin' at me. What the hell else was I supposed to do?"

"Nothing, Hank," she replied quietly, hiccupping slightly as she spoke, "Clearly there was nothing else you could do." She made to move past him, but stopped briefly before she did, "You've just confirmed everything that I always hoped you never would."

SSSSSSS

The gossip in the saloon that night was Emma Jane's outburst and the things she had said. The men she had directed her spite at were noticeably absent from the premises, but those who remained all agreed on the same thing: Hank needed to teach his wife a lesson.

Hearing this from his place behind the bar, Hank knew that if they were aware of what had happened that afternoon, they would congratulate him, nod their heads and say 'yes, that was the way to deal with an out-of-control wife.' He knew many men did it, some occasionally, others to the extent whereupon if he saw their wives in the street, he knew by their faces what had happened. Knowing that he had only done what was expected of him gave Hank no sense of pride or solidarity. He had hurt the person he loved the most, hurt her so that she looked at him out of fear instead of out of love and desire. Since the incident, Emma Jane hadn't returned to the saloon and with midnight fast approaching, he was beginning to worry about her.

"No sign of Emma Jane?" Jake inquired, looking remarkably sober.

"No," he shook his head while cleaning a glass.

"Wasn't right what she said."

"Nope."

"Hope you let her know that, if you know what I mean?"

Hank looked up at his friend, "What _do_ you mean, Jake?"

"Well…you know…"

"Did I hit her? That what yer asking me? Cause if it is, then the answer's yes, I did. And what's more, I don't feel so great about it."

"Ok," Jake replied, holding his hands up, "Was just asking."

"Well don't." He went back to cleaning the glasses until it was time to close up, "All right, everybody out, now!"

"C'mon Hank!" One of the regulars protested, "It's still early!"

Hank walked up to him and fixed him with a stare, "Don't make me ask ya twice." The man didn't argue, and one by one, the customers started to drift away. He sent the girls up to bed and set about tidying up, all the time hoping that Emma Jane would come through the door. The minutes ticked by and still no sign of her. He checked the stables, but all the horses were bedded down for the night, so there was no chance of her lying injured somewhere having been thrown. He paced around the saloon, smoking cigarette after cigarette, until eventually, he decided to go and look for her.

Outside, the town was slowly quietening down, with only a few merry revellers still staggering about, trying to find their way home. He glanced over to Loren's store, but the shutters were closed as usual, as they had been since Abigail's death. He went to the meadow, but there was no sign of her. She wasn't at the church either, but as he turned to walk back towards the saloon, he caught sight of a hunched figure in the graveyard.

"Emma Jane?" he hurried towards it, and found his wife kneeling in front of Abigail and Hannah's graves, "Bin worried bout ya." She didn't reply, "Bin gone a long time."

"I'm sorry," she replied sarcastically, "Did you want to find me so you could hit me again?"

Hank drew his breath in sharply, "Told ya I was sorry bout that."

"And that makes it all right?"

He paused, "No."

"I thought I knew you. I thought I knew you better than anyone. I thought you loved me."

"I do love you!"

"Then why do it?" she turned her head to look at him, "Is it just easier that way? Don't have to talk about it? Don't have to actually open up? You just lash out and that makes everything better?"

Hank crouched down beside her, "Yer the only one I ever open up to."

"And that's not saying much."

"What can I say?" he demanded, "I love you, Emma Jane, you know I do! What I did was wrong, and I'm sorry, but…you wouldn't listen to me! You were hysterical, I didn't know what to do!"

"You could have comforted me," she replied, "told me it would be all right. I had just lost my best friend."

"Thought I was yer best friend."

Emma Jane ignored the comment, "Sully told me that what happened to Abigail was my fault."

Hank was stunned, "He said what?"

She nodded, "He said that if I hadn't filled her head with romantic notions, she would never have run off with him and they would never have gotten married. Then she never would have been expecting and…she never would have died."

"That's stupid," Hank said viciously, "I'll kill him when I git my hands on him…"

"There you go again!" she cried, "Violence! Sully's just lost his wife and child, he has a right to be angry!"

"Not with my wife he don't!"

"What if it had been me?" she asked, "Would you have cared? Would you have been half as devastated as Sully is?"

Hank stared at her, "You really have to ask me that?"

Emma Jane touched her swollen cheek, "Yes I really do."

Hank paused for a long moment, as if weighing up what to do, then he got to his feet, "Don't wanna discuss this."

"Fine, run away! Go on! Be a typical man! Beat your wife and run away…"

"I never beat ya!" he rounded on her. "Ain't like that!"

Emma Jane got to her feet, "But you wanted to, didn't you? You've wanted to for a long time, because I'm not good and obedient and perfect like other wives."

"Yer crazy."

"Yes, you're right, I am." She agreed, nodding, "I've been crazy ever since I met you on that damn train. I was crazy to go along with your harebrained scheme of us getting married. I was crazy to come here with you and I was crazy not to run while I had the chance! Well, you know what?" She forced her wedding ring off of her finger, "I'm not crazy any more Hank."

"What you doin'?" he demanded.

"Take it back," she held it out to him, "I don't want it." He looked at her as though she were insane, "I said, take it." He made no move, so she threw it onto the ground, "Do what you like with it." She pushed past him, but he grabbed her arm.

"The hell you goin'?"

"Touch me again and you'll regret it," she warned her, tears hovering on her eyelashes, "I mean it, Hank."

He released her and she hurried away from him back towards town. He bent down and lifted the ring from the ground, wondering what the hell had just happened.

SSSSSSS

That night, in a room in the boarding house, Emma Jane cried herself to sleep, bitter anguished sobs into her pillow. Sully was right, she was to blame. In a way, she had encouraged Abigail to rebel against her parents, to marry Sully, and they had encouraged each other to become pregnant. Maybe if she had just never come to Colorado Springs, Abigail would still be alive.

"I don't deserve to be happy," she whispered to herself, "I don't deserve anything. Father was right, it should have been me."

The following morning, feeling drained and sluggish, Emma Jane vomited into the bedpan, feeling as though she were expelling her very soul. She sat, hunched over, sweat on her brow, not knowing what was wrong with her.

"Are you all right?" Charlotte asked her when she came down for breakfast, "You're very pale."

"I'm fine," she replied, although she could barely eat any of her host's delicious breakfast, "I didn't sleep very well, that's all."

Charlotte regarded her, "What are you going to do?"

"About what?"

"About you and Hank."

Emma Jane immediately felt for her wedding ring and then remembered that she had thrown it at him the night before, "I don't know."

"I've known you for a long time, Emma Jane. I know you love that man." Charlotte had noticed the slight redness on her friend's cheek, and suspected how it had come about, but had kept her counsel, "And he loves you."

"I'm not even sure I know what love is anymore Charlotte."

"Nonsense," Charlotte replied, "I'll tell you what love isn't, and that's Ethan upping and leaving me with three children. Hank's not like that. Deep down, he's got a good heart."

"I don't think I deserve a man with a good heart."

"Emma Jane, listen to me," Charlotte said firmly, "You're upset about Abigail, we all are. But you can't allow yourself to wallow like this. It's not good for you." She paused, "Or that baby."

"What baby?" Emma Jane asked.

"The one you're carrying, of course," Charlotte replied gently.

Emma Jane stared at her, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not expecting."

"I had my suspicions when I heard you earlier. And now that I look at you, you've got that look about you."

"What look?"

"The look of a woman carrying a child."

Emma Jane laughed hollowly, "You're wrong, Charlotte. I'm not carrying any child." She pushed her chair back from the table, "Thank you for breakfast." Before Charlotte could say anymore, she left, hurrying out into the morning sunshine, taking in huge gulps of air. It wasn't possible, it couldn't be. She was _not _pregnant. Banishing the thought from her mind, she went around to the back of the saloon and saddled up her horse, preparing to ride out to the homestead to see Sully again. There was no sign of Hank, and for this she was grateful.

The ride was pleasant enough, the air full of the fragrance of summer, the sun beaming down on her, warming her back. But there was still a cold feeling inside of her, a feeling that refused to go away. As she arrived at the homestead, she called out Sully's name, but received no answer. Dismounting, she checked the workshop, before mounting the steps to the door.

"Sully?" she knocked. There was no answer. She tried the door and found it open. Stepping inside, she called out again. The place was cold, and she shivered slightly away from the sun. Stepping from room to room, there was a distinct feeling of abandonment, and as she looked around, she could see none of Sully's possessions. Abigail's lay where they had been left, but there wasn't a remnant of Byron Sully.

Heading back outside, she called out one more time, but only a lone bird answered her. Realising that he had gone, and gone hating her, she sat down on the steps and put her head in her hands. Crying was all she seemed to do, and she couldn't seem to stop.

SSSSSSS

Charlotte took it upon herself to go and speak to Hank later that day. She was worried about Emma Jane, especially in light of what she suspected. The saloon was busy, and despite knowing that women were not generally welcomed inside, Charlotte marched in and approached the bar.

Instead of his usual sarcastic quip, Hank merely looked at her, and from the expression on his face, it didn't look as though he had slept much the night before either.

"Hank, we need to talk about Emma Jane," she said. He nodded, and led her through to the kitchen, where he leaned against the table and lit and cigarette. "She stayed at the boarding house last night."

"Figured as much. She ok?"

"No, no I don't believe she is," Charlotte said, "The poor girl's in a dreadful state. Ever since Abigail died, it's as if she's been shutting herself off from everything and everybody. She was crying last night."

"Yeah, she does a lot of that right now."

"It's not good for her. I know it's important to grieve, but she's in danger of making herself ill." Charlotte deliberately refrained from mentioning the baby.

"I don't know what to do," Hank said, "She won't talk to me. She threw this at me last night." He held up her ring, "Seems like she's determined to go it alone."

"She doesn't know which way is up right now," Charlotte said, "She loves you Hank, and she needs you, whether you believe it or not."

"I hit her, Charlotte," he admitted quietly, "I ain't proud of it. Shouldn't have done it, but I did."

Charlotte sighed heavily, "I know. But it's not too late to make amends."

"Can't reach her," he shook his head, "she don't want me anymore."

"So you're just going to give up?" Charlotte glared at him, "If you love her, you'll fight for her."

"Don't know how!"

"You've been married to her for eight years! If anyone knows her, Hank Lawson, it's you. You need to be there for her now. She needs you, more than ever."

He sighed, "Yer right, I know yer right. But I can't help her if she don't want me too."

"You have to fight for her," Charlotte encouraged him.

Hank nodded, and after Charlotte had left, he thought back over everything. If there was one thing in his life that he was glad he did, it was talking her into marrying him. Maybe at the time, it had been for the wrong reasons, but he loved her and the thought of being without her was almost too much to bear.

Leaving Jessica in charge of the bar, he set out once more to look for her, this time going immediately to Abigail's grave. To his surprise, Emma Jane wasn't there, and it was only after he had been riding around for a good hour that he thought of checking the Sully's homestead.

Emma Jane was still sitting on the steps and when she heard an approaching horse, she looked up, wondering if it was Sully. When she saw it was Hank, part of her felt deflated.

"Thought you might be here," he said, dismounting and coming to stand in front of her, "Sully not home?"

"He's gone," she replied, "All his things are missing."

"Oh," Hank wasn't sure what to say, "He'll be back."

"No," she shook her head, "He's running away. From all the memories. From me."

Hank paused, "Ain't gonna tell you it ain't yer fault." She looked at him, "Told you so many times already, but if you don't believe it fer yerself…"

"I know," she replied, "I just can't help feeling guilty. I seem to have caused so much trouble over the years, hurt so many people…my parents, Lydia, Sully…you."

"You ain't never hurt me, Emma Jane," he sat on the steps beside her, "If anything, it's the other way around." He reached out and touched her cheek briefly. "I used you, way back, I used you."

She looked at him, "How do you mean?"

"I married you fer fun. I didn't love you, didn't think about how you'd feel about it. I saw a chance and I took it. You were so miserable when you came here, and that was because of me."

She smiled, "It was my choice to marry you."

"Made you think that if you didn't, you'd be in my debt for that ticket. I took advantage of you." He lowered his head, "That first night, in that hotel room…"

"Let's not," she said, "I was a different person back then."

"You were a scared child," he said bluntly, "and I used you…"

She put her hand on his arm, "Please."

Hank sighed, "Just don't want you to think that I don't realise what I did. If yer to blame fer hurtin' yer folks, then so am I."

Emma Jane sighed too, "Maybe we're both as bad as each other."

"Maybe. But you certainly seem to bring out the best in me. Most of the time anyway."

"You're right," she agreed, "I was miserable when I came here. I thought I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. But if I had wanted to leave, Hank, I would have gone home with my parents when they came. And I sure as hell wouldn't have stayed for eight years. It's just…" she felt the tears come again.

"I know," he put his arm around her, "I know."

"Oh…" she wiped her eyes, "I don't know what's wrong with me." Then she paused, "Actually, maybe I do."

"What?"

She looked at him, "Charlotte seems to think I'm…expecting."

A slow smile spread across Hank's face, "She does?"

"Oh, I don't know how she can tell, but she swears blind I look different. And I was sick this morning which is supposed to be a sign." She started to cry again, "I think we're having a baby, Hank."

Hank pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms, "Best news I've heard in a long time."

Emma Jane sniffed against his chest, "Can I have my ring back?"

Hank laughed, "Of course." He reached into his pocket and produced it, slipping it gently onto her finger, "Thinkin' maybe we should git married again."

Emma Jane looked at him, "Married?"

"Why not? Never did it proper first time round. You never did git the big wedding. Figured I might talk to the Reverend, see what he could do."

She hugged him again, "That would be wonderful." As she rested her head against his chest, she looked up at the homestead and hoped that Abigail would think it just as wonderful.

TBC – Epilogue coming soon!


	8. Epilogue

For the last time, I don't own any of the Dr Quinn characters, bar Emma Jane.

**1867 – Two years later**

Victoria Abigail Lawson's cry pierced the late afternoon air, causing her father to groan and her mother to laugh. Hank, who had been in the process of pulling Emma Jane's skirt up in a quest to sate his lust, slumped heavily on top of his wife, knowing that he had been defeated before he had barely even started. He looked over to where his daughter was sitting on a blanket, wailing and sighed heavily, "Damn it, Vicky!"

Emma Jane laughed again and pulled herself up into a sitting position, "I suppose she did that on purpose."

"Guess she did," Hank agreed, standing up and walking over to pick up his daughter, who immediately stopped crying, "Yer just tryin' to make sure Mommy and Daddy can't give you any brothers or sisters to compete with, huh?"

Emma Jane watched as Hank hugged his two year old, feeling it warm her heart. Charlotte had been right that day when she had predicted Emma Jane was pregnant, and as the nine months had slipped by, she had stroked her stomach and talked to her baby, excited and afraid at the same time. Memories of Abigail had been at the forefront of her mind, and she knew, of Hank's. Luckily, however, the delivery had gone well and when Charlotte had emerged to tell Hank he had a little girl, the proud father had proclaimed drinks on the house.

Shortly after Victoria's birth, Hank had kept his word and had arranged for Reverend Johnston to bless their vows in the church. Emma Jane had been thrilled, and when she had written to tell Thomas not only that he had a new niece, but that she and Hank were to be 'remarried,' he had immediately jumped on a train from New York and appeared with the most exquisite wedding dress Emma Jane had ever seen. It had been pale ivory and encrusted with beads, and as she had stood at the alter and proclaimed her love for her husband, she had never felt happier. Thomas had also brought Sarah and Lucy, and they had loved Colorado Springs, playing happily with the Cooper children and getting some colour into their pale cheeks. She had been sorry to see the three of them leave, but Thomas promised he would come back soon, and that she should come to New York. Emma Jane hadn't taken him up on his latter offer. Despite reconciling with her father at Lydia's funeral, Mrs Brown refused to acknowledge Emma Jane's existence, and the new mother couldn't bear to bring her child into a place of such coldness.

"Reckon we should be gettin' back," Hank said, looking up at the sky, "Don't want it to be dark a'fore we get home."

"Ok," Emma Jane said, standing up and smoothing down her dress. She picked up the blankets that they had brought along for the picnic and folded them up, placing them back in the wagon along with the picnic basket.

"Guess I'll just have to wait til we git home," Hank said, coming up behind her and nuzzling her neck affectionately.

"Guess you will," she replied, climbing up into the wagon and then reaching down to take Victoria, "Although that's assuming that I'm willing."

"Better be," he growled threateningly, climbing up beside her, "Ain't havin' Vicky thinkin' she's won."

They both laughed as Hank urged the horses forward and they began to make their way down the road back towards town. Emma Jane looked around at the countryside, pointing things out to Victoria as they went. She was determined that her daughter was not going to be a stuffy city girl, but rather a child who could run and play and get as dirty as she liked without worrying about how it would look to society. She looked over at her husband as he drove and felt a rush of love.

"What ya lookin' at?" he asked her after a moment.

"You," she replied.

"Why?"

"Because I love you."

"Enough to let me have my wicked way when we git back?"

Emma Jane laughed, "You're incorrigible."

"Shouldn't use big words with me," he joked, "Don't know what they mean."

"Hopeless," she said, "and don't give me that. You know damn well what it means."

"Watch your mouth," he bantered good-naturedly, "Women that talk like that…well, they git into trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" she teased.

He took his eyes off the road and winked at her, "The kind of trouble I know you like." Emma Jane was about to reply, when suddenly a group of Indians appeared in the road in front of them, causing Hank to brake sharply, "Shit."

Emma Jane held Victoria tighter to her. She had never had any quarrel with the Indian tribes, not in all the years she had been in Colorado Springs, but lately, the tribes had been moving closer to town, which hadn't gone down well with certain people, her husband included.

Hank took his gun out its holster, "Git out of the way!" he yelled. The Indians trotted towards the wagon and Emma Jane could see they were all armed with bows and arrows. Hank pointed his gun at them, "I said, git out of the way."

They began talking amongst themselves, in a language she couldn't understand and they were looking at her intently.

Hank fired a warning shot into the air, causing the horses to spook. As the Indians moved to one side, he urged the horses forward and they hurried on past, leaving the group behind. Emma Jane felt herself start to relax again once she knew they were well away.

"Ain't right them bein' so close to town," Hank grumbled, "Never know what they might do."

"They're harmless enough, surely?"

"You don't know 'em like I do, Emma Jane," he said.

"I've been here ten years and they've never attacked, not once."

"Things are different now. Gettin' bolder. Next thing you know they'll be ridin' into town rapin' and thievin'…"

"Don't say that," Emma Jane said, shivering at the thought of any Indian ravishing her, "I don't want to think about it."

"Well then," he said, "Gotta use yer head when it comes to them Injuns. Gotta be careful. I ain't takin' no chances with you and Vicky."

"You're right," she said, "It's just that Sully…"

"Sully's not been right in the head fer years," Hank interrupted, "Fact that he went and lived with them Injuns after he came back says it all. Practically one of 'em now."

"They gave him some sort of comfort I suppose," Emma Jane said wistfully, "Although I wish he had turned to us instead." She thought back to the many times she had tried to discuss Abigail with Sully since his return, but he preferred to remember her in silence, without speaking about her. For someone who had been so used to sharing her thoughts and feelings, Emma Jane found this odd.

"Yeah well, not sure I'm happy bout you hangin' around him neither," Hank warned her, "No tellin' what he might do."

"Sully would never hurt me, or Vicky," Emma Jane protested, "You're just being ridiculous now."

"Am I?" he turned angry eyes on her, "Well then, don't come cryin' to me when you've been taken by force."

Emma Jane didn't respond. Instead, she sat in silence the whole way back to the saloon. Hank was equally as silent, the air thick with tension. Both were stubborn and reluctant to back down first. Since she had become a mother, Emma Jane had usually been the one to give in first, not wanting her daughter to have to live in an atmosphere, and when they finally drew up outside the saloon, she acquiesced.

"I'm sorry," she said, as Hank jumped down, "You're right. We should be careful around the Indians."

Hank took Victoria from her, "Glad you see it my way." Once she had jumped down, he handed Victoria back, "You gonna put her down?"

Emma Jane nodded, "She's tired. I can give you a hand behind the bar once she's asleep." She walked into the saloon, past the customers and upstairs where she put her daughter into bed. Victoria protested loudly at first, but after her mother quietly soothed her, she drifted off to sleep. Emma Jane stood looking down at her, stoking her head of blonde curls, remembering how happy she had been when Charlotte had placed her in her arms after the delivery. Her thoughts had been filled with Abigail, sad that she had missed out on this moment with her own child. But her inclusion of her friend's name in Victoria's went some way to reassuring Emma Jane that Abigail was always with her.

She tiptoed towards the door and, leaving it half open in case her daughter woke up, left the room and went back downstairs to the bar. It was busy with the evening rush and she stepped behind the bar to help her husband serve. For a good half hour, they worked in silence, talking only to the customers but not to each other. Emma Jane was glad, she was still thinking about the Indians, and about everything Hank had said about Sully.

"You with us?" he said in her ear, causing her to jump and spill whiskey on the bar.

"Yes, sorry," she replied, grabbing a cloth and wiping it up.

"Looks like yer somewhere else?"

"Well I'm not," she forced a smile, "I'm here."

"You mad at me?"

"No, why should I be?"

"Just askin'," he replied as Jake came up to the bar, "Hey Jake. Whiskey?"

"Sure," Jake nodded, "Hey Emma, you heard we're getting a new doctor?"

"What, a real one?" Jake nodded, "Well, it's about time."

"I ain't good enough?" Jake demanded.

"No, of course not," she replied placating, "but it must be comforting to the town to have someone who is actually medically qualified. In case anything terrible were to happen." Again, she added to herself, "Maybe if we had had a doctor, Abigail might still be here."

"Charlotte did her best," Hank said warningly.

"I'm not saying she didn't. I'm just saying that having a proper doctor makes me feel a lot better. What is Vicky was ill?" she asked her husband, "Wouldn't you feel happier knowing that a real doctor was looking after her?"

"S'pose," he replied, "but not havin' one ain't done me no harm."

"That's a matter of opinion," she replied. Hank made a face behind her back, "When is he arriving?"

"Reverend says tomorrow morning," Jake informed them, "Coming in on the stage."

SSSSS

That night, as she sat brushing out her hair at the mirror on the vanity table Hank had bought her for their anniversary, Emma Jane heard the sounds of a sudden commotion outside. Hurrying over to the window, she saw Hank, Jake, Loren and some other men in the town pointing their guns at two Indians who were standing the street. The townsfolk were yelling at them to get out and the Indians were shouting back in the same language she had heard them use earlier.

"I said git out or yer gonna feel my bullets up yer ass," she heard her husband growl menacingly. One of the Indians said something in response, "Sorry, what was that?" Hank mocked, "Don't understand yer mumbo-jumbo talk."

"Hank!" Emma Jane called out, terrified that a gun battle was about to ensue.

He looked up and saw her leaning out of the window, "Git back inside," he ordered her, "Now."

Emma Jane was about to respond, when who should come barrelling up the street, but Sully, dressed as was his usual way now, in clothes befitting an Indian.

"Put the guns down!" he ordered.

"We don't want them in our town," Jack informed him, staring down the barrel of his shotgun, "they got no business here."

"They're not going to do anyone any harm," Sully protested.

"So says you, practically one of 'em," Hank replied, "Some of us got women and kids to think 'bout."

Emma Jane saw Sully wince at the inference, "The Indians are peaceful people. They don't want to fight with us."

"They're savages," Loren declared.

"They're human beings!"

"What do they want then?" Hank asked.

Sully conversed briefly with them, "They're looking to trade. Horses for food."

"You gotta be kidding me," Loren said, "they ain't getting anything from my store, that's for sure."

"We don't wanna trade," Hank said, advancing forwards, "So tell them to git lost."

Sully had another quick exchange, after which, the Indians turned and started to hurry back down the street. When they were out of sight, the guns were lowered.

"This isn't the way," Sully advised them.

"What would you know?" Loren retorted angrily, his pain over Abigail's death still raw, "I never trusted you with my own daughter and I sure as hell don't trust you when it comes to them Injuns." With that, he turned and walked back towards the store.

"Face it Sully," Hank said, "Nobody trusts ya."

Emma Jane watched as the small crowd dispersed. Sully looked up at her, and she smiled briefly at him, but he didn't return it. Instead, he turned and walked away. A few moments later, Hank appeared in the bedroom.

"Shoulda kept yer head in," he said, "don't wanna give them Injuns any ideas."

"Did you really have to threaten them?" she demanded.

"You want them comin' in here?" he shot back. "Didn't think so," he responded to her silence, "Nobody wants them Injuns in town and if they keep comin', we'll just have to kill 'em all."

"And start a war?"

Hank sighed heavily, "I'm tired Emma Jane, and I ain't havin' this discussion with you, ok? Just do what I tell you."

Emma Jane closed her mouth, determined not to start an argument, but it was a good few hours before her mind allowed her to drift off. The debate was not over.

SSSSSS

The following morning dawned bright and sunny, although it had been raining throughout the night, leaving the streets muddy and damp. Victoria's early morning shrieks of joy roused Emma Jane from her bed, but typically, Hank slept through the whole thing, snoring lightly in the bed beside her. Shaking her head, she got up, washed and dressed and attended to her demanding daughter. She made breakfast for everyone, including Jake, who conveniently happened to drop by just as she was serving.

"Think we scared them Injuns off last night," Jake remarked as he drank his tea.

"They won't be comin' back," Hank agreed, "and if they do, we'll be ready." He looked at his wife, almost daring her to disagree. Emma Jane kept her mouth shut however, determined not to give him the opportunity to browbeat her into submission in front of other people.

The morning dragged on like any other, with the saloon busy. Despite Hank's protestations, and the look on his face that if she left there would be hell to pay, Emma Jane remained steadfast to the promise she had made Charlotte the previous day to take Victoria over to the boarding house for lunch. The Cooper children loved playing with her, and it gave Emma Jane and Charlotte the chance to catch up on all the local gossip.

"You look perplexed," Charlotte said as she greeted her at the door.

"Oh…" Emma Jane sighed, handing Victoria over to an ever eager Colleen, "I suppose you heard all about the run-in with the Indians last night."

Charlotte nodded, "Whole town's talking about it."

"Hank's got it into his head to shoot the lot of them. There's going to be a bloodbath sooner or later."

"Well, the Indians seem to be getting more and more confident. They're certainly coming nearer the town more often," Charlotte mused, "I have to admit, they do make me nervous."

"Me too," Emma Jane agreed, "Especially since I became a mother, but…" she paused, "I'm just not sure that killing them all would solve anything."

"Maybe in the menfolks mind it would."

"Maybe if I really believed Hank's hatred stemmed from a genuine concern for me and Victoria…"

Charlotte looked at her, "You think it doesn't?"

"I think it's a convenient argument. I think he's just prejudiced and he's using us as a reason for it."

"Still, must be nice to have someone who cares," Charlotte mused, "Ever since Ethan left, I've felt quite vulnerable here. It's frightening to think I'm the only person around to look after the children. If anything happened to me..."

"Don't worry," Emma Jane reassured her, "We'd all pitch in." After lunch, she made her way back towards the saloon with her daughter, stopping to talk to various people on the way. As she finished up a brief conversation with one of the local women, there was the sound of horses hooves and the stagecoach rumbled around the corner. It drew up just outside Loren's store and the door opened to reveal a woman in a fetching white dress. As she attempted to get out of the stage in a dignified manner, she lost her footing and fell headlong into the mud.

Jake and Hank, who were lounging lazily on the porch at the saloon started laughing and Emma Jane glared at them, "Go and help her!" she urged her husband.

"More fun standin' here watchin'," he replied.

Emma Jane shook her head in exasperation, thrust Victoria into Hank's arms and hurried over to where the woman was pulling herself back to her feet. "Here, let me help you," she said taking the woman's bag, "Oh dear, your dress…"

"It's fine," the woman replied with false brightness, "I'm sure it'll wash."

"You'll need a lot of washing to get that out," Emma Jane said, "Typical of them to stop right next to a mud puddle and then not offer to help you down." She tutted sympathetically, "I'm Emma Jane Lawson by the way."

"Doctor Michaela Quinn, from Boston."

Emma Jane stared at her, "Doctor?"

"That's right."

"You're our new doctor?" Michaela nodded, "Oh, this is going to be interesting," Emma Jane said, glancing over to where her husband and Jake were still standing watching, "Believe me, this is going to be very interesting."

"It is?" Michaela asked.

Emma Jane nodded, "Welcome to Colorado Springs."

THE END

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed the story. I'm glad you all liked Emma Jane and Hank. I know that some people might not think there should have been a happy ending because that's not what happened in the series, but for me, this is AU and just because they seem happy at the moment, doesn't mean that Hank and Emma Jane will stay happy. I'm hoping to write some sequels, perhaps dealing with Emma Jane and Michaela's friendship, her reaction to the romance between Michaela and Sully and, of course, the ongoing Indian issues and Hank's prejudices. I hope you'll all continue to read and review.


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